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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

Season 16 (Part 1)

Summary: After being captured by Michael while Dean was under his control, the reader has spent a very long time locked away waiting for someone to come and find her. When the day finally comes that the door opens, it’s not a familiar face she’s greeted with. Somehow the impossible is standing right in front of her but there’s no time to think about that. Something is terribly wrong and the reader needs the help of this strange young man if she wants to stop what Michael’s put in motion and have a chance at seeing Dean alive again...

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Free Space

Word Count: 3,600ish

Warnings: language, SPN season 15 and series spoilers, injury, mention of main character deaths, mention of torture, angst, fluff

A/N: This series takes place post season 15 and follows canon (i.e. if it happened in the show, it happened in this story’s universe). This series is told between the reader and Dean’s POV. This was also written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story bingo!

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Reader’s POV

You just about had a heart attack when the door opened. It’d been such a long time since it’d been opened. Years and years and years. You’d lost track of the days quickly but it was long enough for you to accept that it’d been a very long time. Long enough to accept that when Michael took over Dean and threw you down in the windowless little room, Dean didn’t win that fight.

The only thing keeping you going aside from the spell Michael had put up to keep you permanently trapped, body stuck in time, was the desire to save Dean. Or what was left of him. You’d been alone for years, body having taken a beating by Michael when he first captured you. You were still covered in bruises, broken ribs that wouldn’t heal, pain in every breath. You didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. Solitude, cut off from the world, that was your main form of torture. Dean though...who knew what hell he was going through trapped with a psychopath like that for all these years.

You readied yourself, a dark figure walking inside the room. The room was pitch black to a certain point before you were trapped under a bright light you’d yet to figure out how to turn off. The figure stopped as their feet hit the brightness, a pair of brown boots and slim dark jeans all you could make out. They mumbled something and you felt the air shift slightly. You dared to reach at hand out to where the invisible wall keeping you trapped had been.

Your hand waved right on through it and you suddenly felt cool, clean air hit you. The person jolted when you sprang up, running away as you bolted for the door. You followed them up a flight of stairs and straight out into the foyer of a very nice house. You could see it was a man now and tackled him, straddling his hips and grabbing your knife from your waistband of your loose shorts, holding it to his throat. He breathed hard as you stared at him, cocking your head.

He was the spitting image of Dean. Mostly. His eyes weren’t green and there was something about his nose that reminded you of your own. The biggest tell of all though was the genuine fear in his face, the confusion.

“What’s your name,” you said. You held up the knife for a moment and tucked it away when you saw he was only focused on it. The young man, no more than twenty years old, took a deep breath. You yelped when he threw his legs up and wrapped them around your waist, yanking you off of him. He scrambled to his feet but you were on his tail, grabbing at his jacket. He spun around and popped you in the face, sending you to the floor.

You whined and cupped your cheek, the young man frozen in the doorway with a horrified look on his face.

“Who punches their own mom!” you shouted. He ran out the door and you went after, growling at your bare feet as he took off down the gravel driveway. “I’m gonna find you!”

You stomped your foot on the cool concrete front path, glancing to your right and spotting a sports car. You jogged back inside and found a pair of women’s sneakers, a little too big but you tied them tight and found some keys on a front table.

About two minutes later you were pulling up beside the guy on the road and hopped out of the car, the man running into the nearby treeline. You pulled out your knife and threw it, catching his jacket and pinning the sleeve to the tree trunk. He stumbled and fell down as you walked over, staring up with wide eyes. You sighed and ran a hand over your face.

“Can you at least tell me your first name?” you asked. He shook his head and you crossed your arms. “I bet your name is Lyle, isn’t it.”

“How’d you know that?” he asked, voice a bit higher than Dean’s but it made you smile, something warm and familiar to it.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think recently. Lyle is my top name for a boy if I ever had one,” you said. “So. Lyle Winchester.”

“That’s not my name,” he said. He stood up and pulled out the knife, carefully holding it out to you.

“You look just like Dean and me. You’re my son...somehow,” you said.

“Fine. My name is Lyle and that’s all I can say about myself,” he said. “I’m serious.”

You recognized the tone, that edge to it, the roughness but laced with an undercurrent of worry. Part of you wanted him to tell you everything about him but you knew he couldn’t, instead letting yourself give him a simple nod.

“I’ll make you a deal Lyle. I won’t ask questions about you that you can’t answer if you tell me how and why you got me out of there and answer anything else I want to know about this little situation.”

“Or else what?” he scoffed.

“Or else someday when you’re a teenager I won’t let you do anything. Lyle.” You took the knife from him and put it away, taking a deep breath. You stepped back out to the road, leaning against the car. You shut your eyes, something heavy draped over you. You peeled one eye open, Lyle leaning back against the car next to you in a blue flannel and dark gray t-shirt. His black hooded jacket was over your shoulders and you slipped your arms through the sleeves, wrapping them around yourself. You squeezed your eyes tight, shuddering before warm arms embraced you, Lyle almost as tall as Dean holding you close to him. “How did you know I was down there?”

“I can’t answer that,” he said.

“What year is it?” you asked.

“2089.” You froze, staring up at him. “Well, 2089 where we are right now is.”

“Lyle. It was 2018 when Michael took me. That’s not possible.”

“I can’t answer that either.” Tears welled up in your eyes and he hugged you again. “Sorry.”

“Dean was thirty nine the last time I saw him and it’s seventy one years later? He is dead. Sam is dead. They’re all dead so explain to me how the fucking hell I have a son with Dean!” you shouted. You pushed him away and ran your hands over your face. “Years. Fucking years I’ve sat down there waiting for him to come and get me. Him or Sam or someone. Fucking seventy one years!”

“Y/N,” he said, sounding a bit awkward but he cleared his throat. “I can’t answer everything because I don’t know everything. But I exist and that should tell you something.”

You wiped off your face with his sleeve and looked around, turning back and staring at him.

“I’m at the start of whatever this is and you’re way down the line,” you said. He nodded with a slight smile.

“I don’t understand it but this, where I’m from, this has already happened to you.”

“You’re from the future then,” you said.

“Not exactly,” he said.

“A different universe?” He looked at you like you were nuts and the air shifted, Lyle freezing. You turned and saw Jack, a smile on his face. “Jack?”

“Hi Y/N,” he said. He stepped over and gave you a big hug, a little bit of ache inside you easing finally. “Don’t worry about him. He’s just on pause.”

“Jack I don’t understand fucking anything. What’s going on?” you asked. He pursed his lips and sighed.

“Well you already figured out Lyle is your and Dean’s son. I didn’t think I could slip that one past you. But it had to be him that came and saved you.”

“Why?”

“Dean’s in heaven. Has been for 69 years.” You broke away from him feeling like you’d had a punch to gut and making you breathless. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that with the whole decades worth of trauma thing happening right now.”

“Did Michael…” you trailed off.

“No. A piece of rebar on a vamp hunt,” he said.

“He what?” you said.

“Yeah got pushed back on it. Sam was okay though. Oh and Dean had a dog for a few months.”

“Dean fucking died from that? That’s what kept him down?” you said. Jack nodded and you looked down, blinking your eyes. “Disregarding what is going on in my head right now about that, why didn’t you heal him? Or Castiel?”

“Well Cas was in heaven helping me rebuild after he sort of died and I brought him back. I kinda am the new God,” he said with a smile.

“I’m proud of that but again, why didn’t you come down here and heal Dean?”

“I’m sort of hands off in that regard,” he said. You were about to go off on him for that when it hit you.

“Jack how long have you known I was alive,” you said.

“2020 when I took over, I got these extra-”

“You knew I was alive and left me in a hole in the ground for over seventy years?” you said.

“Like I said, I’m hands off,” he said.

“I was your fucking mom! I took care of you! I protected you! I almost died for you more than once and when you find out I’m still alive you say fuck that bitch, she can deal with it on her own? What the fuck is wrong with you!” you shouted. You slapped him in the face, Jack pouting as you sank down to your knees. “I want Dean.”

“Y/N.”

“I want Dean and Sam.”

“Y/N-”

“I want Dean!”

“I can’t-”

“Fuck you! You’re as every bit as evil as that devil father of yours after all,” you said. You forced yourself to your feet, tears prickling in his eyes. “Oh did I hurt your feelings? Tough fucking shit! Do you realize that I have not only been stuck waiting for years but my body got stuck too. I’ve been sitting with broken ribs for seventy years. Every single breath excruciating.”

You yanked up your shirt, deep purple and black skin radiating across most of your abdomen. Jack reached out a hand and you moved back, dropping your shirt.

“I thought you were hands off. I don’t want your-” you said before warmth trickled through you, the pain gone, body feeling so strange at being without it.

“I don’t have to touch to heal you,” he said quietly. He swallowed and bowed his head. “I tried to let people live their lives without my interference and sometimes they’re messy but I’ve come to realize recently that’s wrong. A bit of help here and there is good. It gives people hope and maybe I should have done things different.”

“My family’s dead and I don’t want to wait around decades more to see them again in heaven. You’re going to-”

“No I won’t. Lyle’s life counts on you doing exactly what you’re supposed to as do your two other children’s. I can’t just put you in heaven. You can’t die right and you have to wait to see Dean until things work themselves out. Lyle’s going to be with you for a while and help get some things settled. It’s already set in motion so go with it,” he said.

“Jack I want Dean. Please,” you said. “Please Jack. Just five minutes.”

“Would you rather have your family back in the near future, alive, or would you rather have your and Dean’s souls torn apart and you never see him again, dead or alive? Rather he over there doesn’t exist? Rather no one exists?”

“I didn’t say that. Of course I would rather have them back alive-“

“Then be patient.”

“Jack. You gotta give me something. Something please.”

“I’ll talk to Lyle, tell him he can loosen up some. But I can’t tell you what to do. You have to follow your gut. Listen to Lyle and it’ll work out,” said Jack. You squeezed your eyes shut, Jack carefully resting a hand on your shoulder. “Do you hate me?”

“I hate that our family was ripped apart. I hate that you didn’t tell the boys I was alive once you knew. I hate that the last time I saw Dean alive we argued. I think what I hate most of all is that you treated us like everyone else. We’re not, Jack. We’re your family. All of us deserved a chance at normal and we didn’t get it.”

“Sam did.”

“How many years did Sam live without us? Without his brother?” you asked. Jack glanced down and you nodded. “You said you became God? Why didn’t you get rid of the monsters altogether Jack. Don’t tell me you don’t have that power.”

“I thought...I thought it was the natural order.”

“Yet you know there are other universes with no monsters at all. You could have taken the monsters away. Shit turn them human for all I care. The boys didn’t have to keep hunting after you took over. You could have been hands off and changed that one fact and saved so many lives, improved so many lives.”

“No. I couldn’t have changed it. Not back then.”

“Why the hell not?” you asked. He pulled his hand away and you found yourself in some clean clothes, Lyle’s jacket folded on top of the car.

“Because when I became God, I learned a lot. It sucks knowing that certain things have to happen and that I had to ignore when Sam prayed to me in that barn because things had to happen this way.”

“But why?”

“Because if I didn’t, if I’d intervened then and there, this universe, all of the ones I’ve been busy rebuilding, the way I’ve been rebuilding heaven...it’d be gone. Destroyed and I wouldn’t be able to put it back. It’s a temporary pain even if it doesn’t seem like it. So please, Y/N, please, listen to Lyle. Work with him. It’ll work out and things can be okay. You can have everything you ever wanted and more. You can have the freaking apple pie life and the no monsters and all of it but please understand you have more shit to go through first and whatever happens, do not let Lyle die.”

“He’s my son. I wouldn’t let that happen to him,” you said. Jack nodded and you grabbed his arm when he turned to leave. “You’ve grown up Jackie.”

“I’m still a baby by God standards,” he said.

“The guys take care of you after I was gone?” you asked.

“Yeah. I missed you though,” he said. “I accidentally killed Mary and sort of lost my soul for a bit. Things got bad for a while.”

“Do you see Kelly in heaven sometimes? Mary?” you asked. He nodded and you smiled. “Kids can fuck up and your parents will forgive you.”

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, Y/N. If I could snap my fingers to fix it all, stop it from ever happening, I would.”

“I’m going to trust that it had to be this way,” you said. “But give me a ballpark figure here. When do I get the guys back?”

“That’s relative. You’re going to end up breaking the space time continuum so it’s hard to answer that correctly.” You stared at him and he shrugged. “Not too long. A few days at most. I promise.”

“Wait is that how we have a twenty year old son?” you asked.

“Yes. The next time you see Dean he’ll be younger than the last you saw him. Just trust your gut and Lyle. Next time I see you I hope things are much better,” he said. You opened your mouth but he disappeared. You shook your head and turned around, Lyle now wearing his jacket, standing closer to the passenger seat door. For a long while you both simply stared, Lyle looking as if he’d just had his own long conversation with Jack.

“You can call me Y/N if that makes it easier,” you said. He nodded and you took a deep breath, going to the driver’s side. “So. What’s the next move?”

“Jack just said after I got you out we had to go to Lebanon. He didn’t tell me anything more than that,” he said.

“Any idea where we are?” you asked.

“San Antonio,” he said. “So we go North?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Mind taking the first shift driving? I sort of haven’t slept in like seventy years.”

“No that’s fine,” he said. He walked around the front and you made your way to the passenger side, climbing in and sighing. He got behind the wheel and took a deep breath. “You and dad run a construction business.”

“That’s nice,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Dean’d be real good at that kind of thing. He’s really smart.”

“I know. Most guys can’t call up their dad for help on their architecture homework,” he said.

“You go to college?” you asked, Lyle nodding. “Do you know about...this stuff?”

“I’m still not convinced I’m not insane. I just got home on a friday night. We had dinner and everyone went outside to have a bonfire in the backyard. I went in to use the bathroom and Uncle Jack stopped me before I could get back outside. He said a lot of crazy stuff I didn’t believe but the fact you were in that basement...you and dad are only like forty but you’re obviously too old right now to have had me when that would have made sense and Uncle Jack said space and time is gonna break and-”

“Lyle,” you said, holding up a hand. “Relax. I just want to know, do you know what hunting is?”

“Dad doesn’t go hunting,” he said, narrowing his eyes. You smiled and nodded to yourself. “We don’t even own a gun.”

“I doubt that. But that must mean that something happens to the monsters along the way too.”

“What do you mean monsters? And why were you kidnapped in a basement? And what the fuck is going on? You’re supposed to be my mom that runs the family business and you kick ass in your soccer league in the summer and you can’t cook to save your life and that’s okay cause you’re really good at baking and pies and shit and I just don’t understand who you really are.” His face was flush, eyes fighting back tears. You smiled, reaching over and cupping his cheek.

“You’re a good guy Lyle. We obviously did something right,” you said, wiping away a stray tear that fell. “It’s scary. It’s really scary. I’m not your mom yet but I will be someday. I promise I will tell you everything you don’t know when I catch up to your time. Dean and I will. But we need to go to Lebanon and the faster we can go there and figure out what we have to do, the faster we can get you back home where you belong.”

“But can’t you-”

“This world isn’t safe, Lyle. It is very unsafe for a Winchester especially. Please drive now,” you said. You put on your seatbelt and he closed his eyes. “Please.”

“I was supposed to be having a smore right now,” he said.

“I know. But saving the world is kinda cool,” you said.

“I don’t want to save the world. I want to go home and not see my mom be beat to shit. I want my dad to go back to teasing me at dinner and not being dead,” he said.

“If we do this right, you can go back to that really soon. It hasn’t happened for me yet. We can talk all about this when you come back. The night you come back we can talk through it all. But we have to get going. The sooner we go, the sooner it goes back to normal.”

“It’ll never be normal again.”

“Yes it will. I promise.”

“How do you-“

“Because I just had this really bad thing happen to me but someday I’m going to have you and everything I ever wanted with Dean. So it sucks right now but it’ll be better eventually. I know it will. You’re here so I know it’ll be normal.” He nodded and wiped off his face, starting the car up again.

“Y/N. Are you okay after...you know...being down there beat up all that time?”

“Not really,” you said. He took off his jacket and handed it to you. You stared before he rolled his eyes, laying it over your front.

“Sleep. I can drive.”

“Lyle.”

“Y/N. Rest. It’s safe. I got this.”

“You take after your dad.”

“Take after someone else too,” he said. You smiled and nodded, resting your head on your shoulder, closing your eyes. “I’ll wake you up for breakfast.”

“Egg and-”

“Cheese on a biscuit, two breakfast burritos, extra hot sauce and a small hot latte.”

“At least my road trip order didn’t change,” you said, quickly relaxing and falling asleep for the first time in ages.

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A/N: Read part 2 here!

#tell me a story bingo #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean #winchester #dean spn

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Text

this night seems so long!

~Notes: I’m reposting this and i’m still not happy with it :S rip XS

SEND ME A PROMPT | A REBLOG MEANS THE WORLD!

It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts

with the mild pheasants' song ...

but now I feel the northern wind's blast—

its severe weather strong.

Alas! Alas! This night seems so long!

And I, because of my momentous wrong

now grieve, mourn and fast.

TS Eliot

The late summer chill seeps through the creeping windows into the flat that they once called home— the feebly standing, slowly disintegrating haven that was painted with laughter before lies, with hopeful kisses before hesitant touches. The cold burrows itself into Sirius’s bones and coats his every thought and nests deep inside of him until he’s more frost than man.

But then he sees Remus— beautiful and golden and perfect Remus— padding out their bedroom clad in Sirius’s oversized jumper that swallows his hands whole, and that familiarly gentle smile that makes his eyes glitter once his soft gaze rests on Sirius, and his sleep supple skin tastes like the things too beautiful to name. He tastes like Remus— like sunlight and parchment and whispered laughter and raspy groans and that’s all Sirius ever wants, has ever wanted.

“It’s September first.” He says once Sirius finally unlatches from his neck, red faced and pleased, and Sirius swears that Ganymede has nothing on him. That if he could he’d restructure every celestial star from above to follow the precise slope of his nose, and the pedal soft curve of his cheek, and the path of his jawline to temple. For everyone to worship him in ways he’s always deserved.

“We’ve made it another month,” Sirius retorts, mixes the splash of milk with the sugar in Remus’s Earl Gray, which is a travesty and a point of teasing throughout their whole relationship since they were nothing but lads. Sirius blames Remus’s beverage faux pas— including his preferential nature to black coffee—to being raised by a Frenchman for a mother, and Remus always counters that if Sirius was any more bloody English he’d be afraid that Queen Elizabeth would poach him for her next husband. Which of course always ended the argument because then Lily would laugh from besides him, and Sirius would glare along with James— both hating it when Remus and Lily’s Muggle references go over their heads like a second language they couldn’t speak.

But Lily’s not here, and neither is James. They’re tucked away in another safe house— the fourth in a calendar year, and they’re both going a bit mad if the letter Lily sent him only a few weeks ago is anything to go by. And Sirius aches for the both of them, aches for baby Harry— his one year old God son who he loves like nothing else. And how could he not? He’s Lily’s bright eyes set into James’s open face, has James’s warm, brown complexion but inherited Lily’s freckles too. He’s Sirius’s God son, and there’s a mad man after him, and sometimes it feels like Sirius’s brain is a mushy, muddled stew melting out of his scalp when he’s forced to contemplate on it for too long— to contemplate on how little Harry seems incapable of escaping the danger— because it goes back to the same name over and over again. The name of someone Sirius refuses to ever let himself contemplate for longer than a breath.

“Aye,” Remus says in that lilting, Welsh bread accent of his before he takes a slow sip and Sirius is left to study the sweep of his long lashes against his fine bones and how less than a fortnight ago that face Sirius adores so endlessly came home caked in mud and blood that was only partially Remus’s own and Sirius wasn’t allowed to ask what happened while he cleaned the cuts and kissed the healed pink skin with gentle reverence. “Maybe 82 will be our year Paddy.” Remus says with such raw yearning that it blows the wind out of Sirius like he’s just taken a bludger to the gut. And he feels so stupid and thankful all at once. Because of course those idl contemplations are nothing but ridiculous fodder. Of course Remus would never— could never.

“Yeah moony,” he says quietly. “Maybe it will.”

Sirius steps forwards, and he kisses him and Remus breathes out like he’s been holding it for a long while, and then his fingers slide into Sirius’s overgrown hair and tugs, and they’re lost in one another for the rest of the morning.

Three days later Remus leaves again under demands that he won’t ever disclose to Sirius— penance for the trust Sirius broke as a schoolboy with a prank that proved near deadly— and a week after that the Order gets news that the Prewettss were compromised, that it took five of those Death Eater bastards to finish them off, and that their older sister with seven kids of her own can’t bare to hold a public wake.

The cold gets worse, and Sirius doesn’t know where to step to avoid another avalanche; is afraid that with every move he takes, a landmine is waiting to blast.

The bare branches of the elderly tree outside their flat knocks against the partition that once bathed them in spilt sunlight and stolen serenity and careful comfort. It scrapes against the glass like the fingers of an inferi, accentuated by the sound of the whistling wind, crooning like the menacing melody by a milky eyed, haggard looking banshee. And everything is unmoving, everything is still— petrified for a moment in frozen history.

And Sirius feels his insides collapse when he remembers that he’ll never hear Gideon’s laughter or see Fabian sat next to Benjy again. It’s a generation lost, Sirius thinks morbidly, the way he always gets when Remus isn’t home and he’s tossing back shots of Fire-Whiskey like it’s what keeps his veins pumping life. A generation of them that’s being killed off one by one, a generation of Hogwarts graduates being obliterated and there’s not an end in sight and Sirius wants to scream. He wants to fight them with his bare hands. He wants to ravage each of their hideouts and use them as target practice for his unforgivables and he wants to run, God he wants to run. He wants James and Lily and Harry to come with him, wants to steel Remus in the middle of the night before he knows what’s even happening. He wants to escape it all and hold onto his family with a iron grip that can only be severed through death.

Sirius wants it so much that it begins to ache, to twist in his stomach and weep within the hollows of his bones.

But then the branches knock against the window once more, and he’s brought back to a reality the makes even idyllic daydreams like that something treacherous and awful. So he pours himself another finger and raises the glass to fallen friends and pretends that the throbbing in his heart is something that can be spelled away if he only works hard enough.

Remus comes home a week later and Sirius feigns that the sight of his lover doesn’t make Sirius picture Marlene’s twisted face of agony and Dorcas’s limp body at the feet of this dark wizard that has destroyed everything Sirius has ever known and tainted everything he has ever loved.

The safe house is sparsely decorated, save for the candle Lily’s always got burning and the succulent she keeps on a shelf besides a small portrait of Harry, tucked between one of her and James on their wedding day, and another of the five of them at their Hogwarts graduation.

It’s no home, especially not one for a baby that’s as curious and boisterous as little Harry. It’s a prison at best. still packed boxes strewn about the ground, and a tension permeating the air and it’s awful. But Sirius manages to forget about it when he glances to his right and sees a giggling Harry bouncing happily on Remus’s lap, and Remus is glowing in a way Sirius hasn’t seen for edging on a year. The stiffness threaded through his shoulders has dissipated and his smile is wide and he’s dotingly kissing Harry’s chocolate splattered cheek while James and Lily roll their eyes fondly from across the breakfast spread. And Sirius thinks that if this is all he sees for the rest of his life he would thank every God and every spirit above.

“Uncle Moony, you better be convincing Harry that if he doesn’t eat his berries that the boogie man will come and munch on his toes tonight,” Lily scolds half heartedly, which makes James drop a kiss to the crown of her head before topping off her tea.

“No toes, mommy! No toes!” Harry babbles in that in-between state of gargling and speech that is as precious as it is incomprehensible.

“Saucy boy,” Sirius chuckles, tousling Harry’s already hopelessly disheveled hair and kissing the corner of Remus’s lips that taste like hazelnut and blueberries and a bit like sunlight too. And he thinks that this is what happiness feels like— He’s nearly forgot.

“I’ll get’m washed up, shall I?” Remus says as he rises swiftly from his seat, Harry clapping excitedly.

“Good man,” James winks and Lily blows him a kiss. Remus looks down at Sirius, a brow cocked slightly.

“I’ll be up in a minute, yeah? Just wanted to help these plonkers with the dishes.”

Remus grins brightly and nods, and then, he stilts— like in hesitation— before kissing Sirius’s temple, promptly shuffling off and humming Harry an old French lullaby that he knows Hope once sang him when he was a boy.

And Sirius’s heart feels so full, so fragile, And Sirius hates that he didn’t tell him I love you, is afraid that the space of time that they’ll get to say that to one another is rapidly dwindling.

“We’re finishing up all the kinks in the plan,” James says, saddling up besides Sirius, handing him a sponge and keeping the dishcloth in his own. “You still want to act as secret keeper?”

“Course you daft wanker,” Sirius bristles. “I’d do anything for you lot.”

“I know,” James says unflinchingly. “You and Moony are the best friends a bloke can ask for.”

And God that hurts like nothing else, so Sirius doesn’t even try to retort in any meaningful sort of way. “Don’t forget Wormyy.”

James laughs. “Would never dare.”

And then silence drops over them like a heavy quilt threatening to smother them to death. And Sirius scrapes off the grime from the dishes and pretends that the plate isn’t still scratched and battered even once the debris is gone. And he swallows down the lump in his throat when he remembers that Remus is leaving again in a matter of hours.

Remus is still curved around Sirius like a blessing stroked to life with heavenly colors the morning after he gets back. Sirius wraps his arms around him, squeezes tightly and berries his head into his neck, wanting to feel him, to smell him all over. And as they lie down in that heap in the bed Sirius has always called theirs, but Remus has only ever referred to as Sirius’s, he sobs.

“Don’t go Remus, don’t leave me anymore. Just stay here, stay with me. I love you so much that I’m afraid I’ll crack with it and I know you don’t— that you can’t feel the exact same way— but please, just don’t leave us. Stay here, stay and love me too.”

Remus’s even breaths never falter, and he never flutters his eyes open, but Sirius has known him for nearly half his life, and he knows it like he knows his own name that Remus is awake and simply doesn’t answer him.

What Sirius doesn’t know is what that means.

They’re sitting on either end of the couch now.

Sirius is pretending to fill out a crossword but is actually trying to decode a letter they had been able to intercept between McNair and a lower ranking Death Eater about some assignation that was meant to be held in the wee hours of October seventh. But every few minutes his eyes wander to Remus, to how he’s curled up with a book of poetry in one hand and his blanket swathed around him. His fringe is hanging in limp curls and the circles beneath his eyes are only that much more prominent, that much more sickly. And his gaze is large and fragile in a way Sirius has never seen. And he wants to slide the novel out of Remus’s hands and he wants to kiss away his frown, and he wants to lock his fingers through the holes in his green sweater and he wants Remus in every way imaginable, to tell him I love you and I love you and I love you so much its like I’m dying. He wants to kiss the inside of his elbow and the knot of his ankle and beneath his naval too. He wants him and knows that he’ll never stop wanting him, and is sure that this— this love— will prove his Achilles’ Heal, and Remus is Patroclus destined to leave him first and Sirius is destined to wallow in ruin.

Sirius wants to beg him to stay here, to stay with him, to love him like he knows he does.

But Sirius simply does not— Does not tell him any of that.

They haven’t spoken to one another with words for days now, and it feels pathetic and hopeless— the way they only regard one another with stiff lips and cautious glances in the daylight, but that doesn’t stop them still clutching for one another once the sun dips into the horizon. Like if they can convince themselves that the sex is still miraculous that they still love each other too. As if their bodies aren’t just vessels, aren’t just sacks of skin and bone. And it feels like they’re both giving up on one another and holding on to each other with equal fervency. And Sirius doesn’t know anything any more.

It’s pathetic and it’s painful and it’s pointless. It’s so obviously over, it’s been over for nearly half a year, but they’ve always been cowards when it came to one another. And Sirius doesn’t think that will ever change.

So he only settles deeper into the couch, and he keeps the Shakespeare in Remus’s grasp, and he moves his free hand to deftly clutch around one of Remus’s cold feet, and he squeezes and Remus freezes, and they both breathe for the first time in far too long. But then Remus pulls away, and Sirius lets go before he can feel the sting of rejection and they go back to pretending to go on.

Remus is gone the next morning for a council with Dumbledore, so Sirius wanders the flat like a ghost with no direction, no idea what’s next.

He decides to tidy up the space, like it matters, like anything is normal. And when he reaches for the empty mug on Remus’s nightstand, he sees that his book of poetry is still open, and he lifts it to glance at the sonnet written their in black and white…

When my love swears that she is made of truth

I do believe her, though I know she lies,

That she might think me some untutor’d youth,

Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.

And Sirius throws it hard against the wall before he can read another word.

Remus is preparing for another mission for reconnaissance, tells Sirius that night over their curry take away. And it feels like the world is dissolving right in front of Sirius’s eyes, like his lungs have forgotten how to breathe during those interludes where Remus leaves without a trace— only starting up again when he returns smelling of blood and fear and the outdoors. And Sirius hates everything so much— Is afraid that he hates Remus most of all some days, even if he’s the one person he can’t fathom existing without.

The sky breaks open that night and rain pellets down like the bullets from the Muggle films that Remus loved showing him, before the war, and before his disappearing act, and before it felt like a knife was plunged into Sirius’s chest every time he looked at him— and the only worst thing than this would be if he stopped seeing Remus all together, because he knows it like the innate way he knew how to move his lips against Remus’s on that feted day towards the start of seventh year— that the knife would simply be pulled out and he’d bleed to death bit by bit.

It hurts like nothing else loving him, but Sirius can’t fathom a world where he does not. Where he doesn’t get to trace the consolation of freckles dusting his high cheekbones, where he doesn’t get to kiss the singular mole at the nape of his neck that’s ordinarily covered up by his thick jumpers. A world where they don’t intwine in the ways that lovers are want to do.

Sirius loves Remus even if he knows it’s fruitless because there’s a war destroying the world and there’s a spy in the order and Remus is the only one who’s brilliant in a reserved way and cunning when he wants to be and the only one who knows how to properly keep a secret from his friends like it’s a second skin that he wears as effortlessly as a cloak.

And God.

Remus is sitting besides him now, a pinky’s breath away from his perch on the sofa.

There are words that writhe in Sirius’s throat, clacking against his teeth, begging to spill out. He wants to tell Remus he loves him, that he’d forgive him anything. He wants to tell him that Remus can Avada Kedavra him in the cold morning light and Sirius would still only see him bathed in an etherial glow, but can’t see him doing that to their dearest friends, to Harry who is sacred and should always be protected. He wants to beg him to just speak, to tell Sirius the truth, to tell Sirius he still loves him. Beg Remus to run away with him. To go off to Prague or Cordova or maybe even the states, to say sod it to the whole damn war and just spend their days and nights tangled up with naked limbs and sweaty sheets.

And he thinks he will, thinks that the burning sensation of want within him is too furious to tempt down anymore.

But then the dying sun shimmers through the window, unspools in Remus’s honey curls and twinkles in his butterscotch eyes that were once always dancing with a quiet humor that enthralled Sirius to him like a drifter to a prophet. And it’s not healthy, this vigil he’s always held for him— especially now, especially with his suspicions that James begrudgingly agrees with and Lily fumingly does not— but Sirius’s never been one for self preservation, has never known how to let a scab heal over naturally. He has to poke and prod until it scars, until it becomes a indelible part of him.

They stay there like that for either a minute or hour more, and when Sirius sees that Remus finally has enough of their staring match, he begins to move away, and it is Sirius— with a quick hand and desperate need— who presses him back down to the cushions with a hot mouth and wandering palms and he pretends that all he feels at the sound of the whimper Remus lets out is pleasure and not pain from his heart chipping that much more.

And this is vacant of words too. This is just instincts and moans and intuition of knowing another’s body and pleasure points and wants for half a decade now.

They make it to the bedroom and Sirius refuses to be gentle, refuses to deprive himself of anything, and Remus is matching him with every thrust.

When they kiss its wet, and Sirius knows its the tears leaking out their eyes, and he knows in that unspoken, understanding way that this is the final time. That when Remus leaves later tonight, he’ll stay gone, that he won’t ever sleep besides Sirius again, won’t ever hold him like this. Sirius will never get to see him in the splendid, golden hours of morning and never get to run away with him after all. So Sirius blunders Remus’s mouth with his hard tongue, and he relishes the way Remus bites on his bottom lip until he tastes blood. And he throws them onto the mattress and they wrestle together in the sheets, scratching and pulling and canting obscenely. And when Sirius kisses his protruding collar bone it’s I’m saying I love you, and when Remus sucks on the hinge of Sirius’s jaw it feels like an apology. And when Sirius squeezes the scar on his inner thigh where the very first bite mark lies mangled and knotted in his skin, he’s begging him one last time to stay, and when Remus tells him in a voice that’s tenuous and tender and filled with sorrow, “Fuck me” the syllables slot together in a different formation that sound like “I’m already gone.”

They’re having parallel conversations and they’re not speaking and it’s the end.

So Sirius bucks against him and Remus wraps his long, long legs around Sirius’s narrow waste, and Sirius codes his fingers with the lube they’ve always kept in his nightstand and is fast when he plunges them into that ring of tight, tight muscle, when he stretches and scissors and slicks him open, spurred on by Remus’s gargled words begging him. “Now Sirius, now, now. Do it now.”

So he doesn’t bother with any of the rest of it. He barely sheaths himself half way before he has to stop, has to catch his breath, to re acclimate himself to the pressure. But then he hears Remus whimper and he surges forwards and doesn’t let up this vicious rhythm that he hears pulsing in his fucking ears. And it’s graceless and it’s hard and it’s a bit rushed but it’s what they need. And when Remus tosses back his head— features twisted up with emotion— Sirius berries his face into his neck and he feels his tears intermingling with Remus’s own and Remus’s loud pleads for him to go rougher, to stay longer, to keep fucking into him. So Sirius listens because there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Remus— even now— and he focusses on his hand circling Remus’s length, on pumping it with a tight fist and a bit of a twist, the way Remus has always preferred it. And he hears Remus croaking out an “I’ve always loved you,” and even if those words are too late, too little, too hollow, they still work to bring him off the edge, and Sirius thrusts deeper only twice more before he’s releasing himself into him— into the love of his life— quickly followed by Remus’s own cock whimpering out it’s own climax. And it feels like the ending to the story Sirius never wanted to stop being told.

But before he can pull out his overstimulated prick from Remus’s arse, Remus just squeezes him with his legs, eyes fluttering shut while he rests his arms around Sirius’s broad shoulders. “Just stay.” he asks. “Stay until I have to go.”

And the sound of him— so desperate so pliant so tired— breaks the rest of his heart so much so that Sirius feels the remains splintering in his lungs and shattering open his ribcage with a sob he never lets out until Remus is gone.

“Anything you want Moony. Whatever you ask.”

And Remus’s lips twitch up into the best approximation of a smile that he’s given Sirius in far too long, and Sirius rests his head against Remus’s chest, and kisses the freckles that he was so elated to find their the first time they had done this. And he takes in deep the scent of cinnamon and citrus and sunlight that’s always clung to his skin, and he thinks that this is the first time they’re letting each other feel hopeless together.

The cold has turned over to a blizzard, and it seizes the flat once more the next morning.

Remus is gone and Sirius is left alone and nothing is right.

So he grabs the floo powder from the beautiful, ceramic container Hope had gifted Remus when he first moved into the flat the summer after their seventh year, and he finds James waiting for him on the other side, and he’s never taken in just how exhausted and terrified and sad his brother is looking these days.

“Wotcher, Pads.” James says, sipping on his tea with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and nothing is alright, nothing will probably ever be alright again.

“Hiya, Prongsie,” Sirius says, hearing just how threadbare his voice sounds in the quiet of the Potter cottage.

“So just a morning call? Or would you like me to fetch Haz for you?”

Sirius swallows the lump in his throat and forces himself to speak. “James I love you more than life, love Lily and the sprog just as much— But—“ he chokes up right then before ramming forwards. “I can’t— I can’t be the—“

“I know,” James interrupts, a thin, forgiving smile on his face. “Pete’ll have to do, but I’d still rather it you.”

“I’m so sorry James.”

“Me too.”

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #SPILT INK #DELETE LATER #TBH #LOL

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navarroserra · 4 years

Text

Incense for Hel, Goddess of Death and Mercy

Another post for the incense series, this time we focus on Hel, the goddess of the underworld, goddess of mercy, whose home is in Helheim. As a follower of Loki I honor Hel on my alter with the rest of her siblings and when I first thought of this series I was making an Incense for her. With these ingredients, just like the Loki incense we can look at if these herbs match up with Hel and if so what they say about her. I believe the Norse didn’t just assign herbs without thought, there was a reason these plants are associated with each deity. Now lets look at Hel, Her incense is comprised of 8 herbs, each will be broken down below.

Jasmine: Jasmine is a powerful plant, one that works well within magical spells and workings dealing with the spirit and love, It can help ease a broken heart and aids in spells dealing with friendships. Jasmine also has a few medicinal benefits, some of these are easing menstrual cramps to relieve anxiety and depression. This plant can also aid with clarity, and help in healing, but on the other side aid in confidence building, and prophetic dreams.

Juniper: Juniper is a very good cleansing tool when it is bundled and burned within a space, The smoke clearing was commonly used in the springtime, and when one considers own endangered palo santo and white sage is Juniper is a good alternative and considering we all follow a (though varying from person to person) a Norse belief this herb is a great way to honor the gods, Jotunn, Goddess, etc with a native cleansing herb. Juniper was without a doubt used by the norse, and a good amount of documentation can be found within Trolldom, the folk magic tradition of Sweden, Denmark, and Norway, these documentations include many different uses for Juniper. The ash, oil, berries, and even branches would be used for removing curses. It is an herb that is heavily versatile.

Mullein: This herb for a long time has been respected and has earned a place in a healer’s bag, also known as Wild Ice Leaf, this herb has a cool feeling and its flavor is said to be akined to salted vanilla. If you are starting out in herbalism Mullein is a great herb to start with and is very safe to use. Many practitioners feel that when this herb is carried it protects the healer from illness and guides them in their work, and it is also known to be a protective plant spirit.

Myrrh: This resin has a wide range for which it can be used, it has a fairly strong scent which is often used with other resin and herbs such as frankincense and sandalwood, Myrrh is associated with cleansing and purification, burning myrrh can help with banishing, breaking hexes, breaking curses, protection against magical and psychic attacks, and can purify sacred places. In some cultures it does have a connection to the dead and burial rituals. If you are nervous, stressed, or restless try burning some nearby to help you relax, or put some in a satchel under your pillow to help you sleep.

Willow: Willow is strong and deals with the cycles of life, death, rebirthm change, and the will, this wood is very emotional, and some say burning this wood can soothe and guide the souls of the recently deceased. Willow wood is very strong within magic, Willow aligns itself with your personal will and shakes its energy with yours, this tree is also extremely useful in healing magic, love spells, and any kind of ritual that involves emotions. Willow is also known to strengthen the third eye and is great for divination.

Yarrow: This herb is good if you want to set up boundaries, and can help you with your creative energies, Yarrow can bring steadiness and a calm into your life while increasing precision and resistance. Yarrow is an amazing healer when it comes to emotion wounds! Placing yarrow over doorways can protect from negative energy. You can also use yarrow to banish bad habits, picking fresh flowers and leaving them in the sun will only boost their power.

Chamomile: Chamomile is commonly used in tea, and helps aid sleep, but this flower can also be used to combat curses, sooth the body, help one focus, and can be helpful with dreamwork and banishing negativity. This herb was chosen because of Hel’s fondness for white flowers, this being a white flower commonly used by the Norse people I felt this calming sweet flower would be nice for her.

Grinding all of these in a mortar and pestle, I suggest starting with the hardest first, resin, and bark, the flowers being the easiest and power very easily. Once you grind everything up place it in a nice sealed jar with a label. When you are ready use a charcoal tablet, lighting it before placing it on your plate, in your bowl, or cauldron. when you add your incense mix be careful to only add a little at a time, it will release a lot of smoke, once all of the herbs turn black use something gentle to remove the blacken herbs from the charcoal before adding more herbs, this will help keep the incense scent instead of just having a burning smell.

#lokean #loki #Rokkr #hel #Hela #Incense #Goddess of death #herbs

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leechobsessed · 3 years

Text

Night Garden

Words: ~2.3k

Characters: Ella the Apprentice, Julian Devorak

Content Warning: mentions of death, brief mention of vomit

Previous chapter, Masterlist

Over the past few weeks, Ella had decided two things.

The first seemed obvious, silly even, but she had to admit it to herself; she absolutely, positively, 100% did not have a crush on her boss, Dr. Julian Devorak.

It was inappropriate. Aside from the fact that he was her mentor, pursuing a romance in the middle of an epidemic just seemed… wrong. So wrong.

Additionally, there was just... no way the feelings were reciprocated. Because of their work relationship, Ella had spent lots of time watching Julian interact with people, and she had come to realize he was always incredibly friendly, pleasant, and (when appropriate), a little flirtatious. It was just who he was.

The drinks had clouded their judgement, she told herself. It was the alcohol that had given her the idea that she was desirable enough for a man like that to find her attractive. For her to have interpreted his demeanor as anything other than polite was delusional.

So she had decided to not have a crush on the tall, pale, auburn-haired, gray-eyed doctor any longer. He wasn’t even that good looking.

The second thing she had decided, was that the healing wasn’t helping anymore.

It seemed like the treatment was initially going to work. Not cure anything, but maybe, maybe buy the patients enough time to hold on just a little longer, in hopes that a real breakthrough for the cure would happen soon.

Ella visited Aleah and the rest of Dr. Devorak’s patients in the clinic every day for almost three weeks. Five days after their initial treatment, their symptoms returned, seeming to be worse than before. A second treatment bought them another three days, but that treatment proved to be less helpful than the first.

About two weeks after they had initially presented with symptoms, they died. Ella had sat with Aleah during her last hours of life, holding her hands, comforting her, praying to the Gods that they would take away this woman’s pain and allow her to pass easily into whatever came after this life.

The Gods didn’t answer.

Like all the patients who died before her, her last few moments were full of agony, dark red blood dripping from her mouth, ears, and nose, streaming out of her eyes like tears as she struggled to fill her blood-filled lungs with air.

It was the first patient Ella had seen die first hand, and it was more awful than she could have ever imagined. She had sat with Aleah until her heart stopped beating, then promptly rushed outside the clinic to get sick in the grass.

As hard as it was to watch, Ella knew that she had to stay focused. She continued to meet with Nazali and Isabel, tweaking the timing of treatments to see if earlier or more frequent healings would be more beneficial. And it seemed to, for a while, but Ella found her energy running low. It felt as if someone had pulled out an internal stopper and let all her physical, mental, and magical energy flow out. Nothing she did to try to recuperate seemed to help.

To make matters worse, ever since the first healing, she had the same nightmare almost every night: red clouding her vision, thick and suffocating air, hundreds of voices, ominous figures cloaked in black. Each night, more figures were present, always reaching for her, always screaming.

Ella spent most nights staring at the ceiling, willing herself to stay awake to avoid the dreams. She tried calming spells, herbal teas, and one night, she even drank herself to sleep hoping that would help, but all it did was give her a nasty hangover the next morning.

About a week ago, she had become so desperate, she penned a letter to her aunt Vivian, asking for any advice on how to make the dreams go away, but she knew it would take a while for an answer. So in the meantime, she had taken to walking around the palace grounds at night.

She had explored almost every corner of the palace, but enjoyed the gardens the most. The thick shrubbery and tall trees provided a feeling of safety and comfort that she hadn't found anywhere else. Every night, she would bring the remainder of her unfinished reports with her, roam around the maze of paths until she found a spot she liked, and then work until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Only then would she reluctantly drag herself back to her room to go to sleep.

This evening, Ella finds herself in an area of the garden she isn’t familiar with. Huge willow trees line each side of the path, their wispy tendrils seeming to reach for her in the unseen evening breeze. She can hear the sound of running water not too far away, and decides to head in the direction of the sound. She flips through her reports as she walked, reading them out loud to herself.

When she emerges from the trees into a large clearing, she’s pleasantly surprised to find that the source of the water is from a large, tiered fountain, illuminated softly by an unseen light source. She places her papers down on one of the stone benches surrounding the fountain before settling down on the stone wall around the water.

She kicks her shoes off and tucks her legs underneath her, facing the bubbling water of fountain. She reaches forward and dips her hands in the cool water, allowing her magic to pull the water to her hands. When she removes her hands from the fountain, the water stays floating around her fingers like a clear, thick glove.

Ella watches, smiling, as the light from the fountain reflects and refracts in the water around her hands. She compresses the water into a tight ball that she holds between her hands before pulling it apart like dough, and then compresses the water again to repeat the process.

She finds herself reminiscing back to her childhood as she plays with the water. This was the first spell she had taught herself as a child, one she had found in an old and dusty book of spells she from in the library. She remembers showing it to her siblings, how impressed and jealous they were, and how quickly they forbade her from using this new trick in their semi-regular water fights.

Ella frowns, suddenly feeling incredibly lonely.

“Ella?”

A voice from behind her breaks her concentration, sending the ball of water splashing back into the fountain and onto her legs. Ella turns quickly to find Julian, dressed casually in a loose white shirt and dark pants, standing by the bench where she had set her reports.

“Oh, Dr. Devorak.” She swings her legs back around so she faces him, rubbing her hands dry on the front of her damp dress. “What are you doing out here?”

The doctor raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing out here?” he asks as he sets his own papers down on top of Ella’s, making his way over to her at the edge of the fountain.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You too, hm?” He sighs as he sits down next to her, his long fingers wrapping around the lip of stone beneath him. His cool, smoke-colored eyes study her features slowly. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“I feel like I haven’t,” she admits, offering a small shrug.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Julian nods in understanding. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

To change the subject, they begin discussing work. Julian retrieves his papers from the bench and brings them back to the fountain, and together, the two of them start to review the day’s reports.

As Julian asks about certain patients, Ella responds flatly, her mind distracted, keeping her eyes fixed on the reflections in the water. “Dr. Devorak,” she interrupts suddenly, pulling her gaze up to meet his.

“Julian,” he corrects, not looking up from the papers.

“Julian,” Ella tries again. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the healings I’ve been doing, but I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you.”

The doctor nods, turning his body so he’s facing her, tucking one of his long limbs underneath him. “That, um. That may be my fault. Well, actually, I know that’s my fault.”

Ella frowns, genuinely confused. “What’s your fault?”

Julian blushes, rubbing the back of his neck, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. “The fact that you haven’t had much of a chance to talk to me.” He looks toward the magician, who raises an eyebrow in question. “I’ve been trying to um, distance myself from you? No, that sounds bad. I just--”

“Is it because of what I showed you the night after the Raven?”

Julian chews on his bottom lip, his eyes searching hers before clearing his throat. “Y-yes.” He laughs nervously, looking down at his hands. “I guess I lied when I said I wasn’t scared of magic. Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly impressed by your talent just… it’s just very different from what I’m used to.”

She can tell by his posture and how he won’t meet her eyes that that’s not the whole truth. She studies his features as he traces imaginary patterns in the stone, reminding herself again that she does not like him that way.

Taking pity on him, Ella offers a smile. “That’s understandable. You didn’t have to avoid me though. Especially because I didn’t remember what happened until Isabel filled me in.”

Julian’s attention snaps up toward her, his eyes wide, a smirk dancing on the corners of his lips. “Maybe we shouldn’t have had that wine.”

She laughs, tucking a brown wave back behind her ear. “Yeah, maybe not.”

His eyes linger on her features a moment longer before he clears his throat. “So! What did you want to tell me about the healing?”

Julian listens attentively to Ella’s concerns about her magic. She reluctantly admits she doesn’t think she can keep up with the number of healings she’s doing, and how she feels she’s failing both him and his patients because of this. By the end of the conversation, Ella finds herself blinking back tears, feeling both relieved and anxious to have shared these feelings with someone else.

He frowns, reaching his hands out to take hers, running his thumb across her knuckles. The contact makes only makes her eyes water more, and she keeps them firmly focused on the water to avoid meeting his gaze. “Ella, you haven’t failed anyone. This is not a burden that falls on your shoulders alone.”

Ella shakes her head, pulling her hands away to wipe at her eyes. “I know. I just thought I would be able to do more. I didn’t expect the healings to take so much out of me.”

“Hm. It’s a shame we can’t just... bottle up your magic and distribute it that way,” Julian laughs, tapping his chin.

Ella sighs, nodding solemnly in agreement, before realization hits her. “Wait, what?”

“Ah— Not to say you aren’t doing a good job,” Julian says, backpedaling, his hands raising in defense. “You’re a phenomenal magician, I had just read—“

“No, no, Julian, you’re a genius!” Ella exclaims, jumping up from her spot on the fountain, startling Julian. “We can just bottle it up!”

Julian blinks at her as she rushes over the bench with her notes, dropping to her knees and reaching for the quill and ink Julian brought with him.

She quickly scribbles down a list of ingredients that may be helpful for potions and elixirs before bringing the journal back to Julian.

“Look,” she says, pointing to the drying ink on the page before her. “We can make potions. I used to do it all the time for the shop, I have no idea why I didn’t think about it sooner!”

Julian listens intently as Ella drops down on the bench next to him and begins to explain how different combinations of ingredients with the addition of magic can provide similar effects to her magic alone. She continues to explain that although it may not last as long, large batches of these mixtures can be made with minimal effort to ensure the patients can receive the treatment as they need it, whenever they need it.

“It makes sense to me,” Julian says, reading over the list.

“It might take a few tries to get the combination, the right mixture, but I’m sure this will work,” she says as she reads over his shoulder, nodding to herself.

She turns to Julian, who is no longer looking at the paper, but is instead completely focused on her face, the corners of his lips pulled up in a small smile. Blushing, she straightens up and away from him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, still smiling.

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” His eyes flicker toward her lips for only a moment, his pale skin blushing a light shade of pink as she returns his gaze.

“Like nothing, Dr. Devorak.” She pulls her papers from his hands and turns to face him, standing up from the bench and hoping he can’t see her blushing in the dim lighting of the garden. “I’ll need a few days in my shop to figure out the right combination. I don’t think it’ll take more than a week.”

Julian nods, the smile still playing on his lips. “Take all the time you need. I trust you.”

#surprise! bet you though i forgot about ella's canon #this has been sitting in my drafts forever #so we're publishing it now to get it out of the drafts #ella the apprentice #julian devorak #the arcana #my writing #fan apprentice #death cw #the title is from the song night garden by benee

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villainousshakespeare · 4 years

Text

Offerings

Loki/OFC one shot

Rated M: Angst, tooth rotting fluff, love, some light smut,

Summary: Laek is a healer from Alfheim sent to Asgard to train under Eir. She is lonely on so alien a world, with no one to talk to and all her dreams of adventure on hold. When she begins to receive gifts from a secret source, she cannot begin to imagine who has left them, or why.

**Set before the events of Thor I, when Loki was still a sweet (if mischievous) untraumatized soul.

I have been feeling a bit blue this weekend, and wanted to write something angsty and tooth-achingly sweet. This was the result. I hope you like it!!!

@arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @ciaodarknessmyheart @devilish--doll @hiddlesholic @hopelessromanticspoonie @izhunny @just-the-hiddles @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken @nonsensicalobsessions @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @yespolkadotkitty

*If I ever tag you and you want off a tag list, please let me know!

OFFERINGS

She did not belong here. The thought echoed like a silent scream through Laek's mind, try as she might to suppress it. Looking around her, at this strange world she'd been thrust into, it was all she could do not to weep. Laek knew she was being self indulgent and melodramatic, but she could not seem to help herself. What, after all, was a young woman like herself, born and raised to heal the injuries of men and gods, doing in a realm that celebrated war?

All around her, men and women dressed in armor, encased in and carrying the steel that was designed to do harm to one another. The air filled with the clang of weapons on a constant basis, accompanied by cries as blade edges found their homes in flesh. Even wielded as they were here in practice, mistakes were bound to be made, injuries acquired. They celebrated scars here, badges of honor for the noble race that elevated all that she had been raised to strive against.

It was not that she was a pacifist. Laek knew that there were things worth fighting for, causes that she would die to defend. It was just that the level of worship here accorded brute strength, the ability to maim and kill, was out of all proportion to her mind. Surely, surely, she thought, there were other skills of equal value.

She had been brought here to train in her arts, for it was on Asgard that the Goddess Eir, worshiped above all by healers such as herself, resided. It made sense, in its way. Where else would she be more needed than on this barbaric world. And Laek was learning much and more from the blessed Goddess. Her own powers and knowledge were still green, if great in latent strength. Laek was the strongest natural healer to be born to her people in generations, but at just 700 years old she had much still to learn. It was thought that 100 years under the watchful eye of Eir would be exactly what was needed to nurture her gift. 100 years. She had been here for one month, and already she wanted to throw herself off the much vaunted rainbow bridge to escape.

It would be easier, she often thought, if she didn't look so different on top of all else. She was smaller than most of these Asgardians, both in height and body mass, and her clothing was soft and flowing rather than hard and protective. Her pale gold hair she kept long, after the fashion of her Alfar people, braided across her temples and tied with ribbon woven through. Under a high brow, her wide, tilted eyes shaded different colors, from gold to green to crystal, depending on her mood, an embarrassment to her now that she found them so often a cloudy grey that gave away her discontent.

Laek was not mistreated, of course. Eir and her acolytes were kind to her, in their fashion. But the Goddess was old, dry, and set in her ways. The All Mother, Frigga, had pulled her aside upon her arrival in a most kindly manner, telling Laek that her door was always open, should the young healer need to talk. Occasionally she had thought of taking her up on that offer, but in truth she was more than a little intimidated by the regal Goddess that ruled Asgard at her husband's side, and her courage had failed her every time. Odin himself flat out terrified her, as did their two sons, the golden Thor and the sleek, dark but pale Loki. She watched them, but never dared approach.

And so Laek spent her time in a somber routine. In the mornings she would rise, bathe, dress, and report to the infirmary. Once there, she would spend the early half of the day tending to the sick and injured, attending on Eir and absorbing as much knowledge as she could at the healer's side. In the afternoon, she would head to the library, where all of the written knowledge of all 9 realms was stored in the pages of books and scrolls, a collection that had no rival in any universe. She would loose herself there for hours in reading, studying healing or simply learning about the customs and practices of other places, places she longed in her secret, adventurer's heart to see for herself one day.

She ate her meals at the end of a table in the great feast hall, alone amidst a sea of strangers. At night, she retired to her chambers to an early rest, often walking in the moonlit garden beneath her rooms, where she could pretend for a moment that she were home and at peace.

It was in the library one afternoon, in the beginning of her second month, that the first token appeared. She had found her eyes glazing over as she studied a text on blood transfusions, and in an attempt to rouse her mind had gotten up and wandered to the section that contained dwarfish riddles, pulling a book at random to bring back to her seat.

When she returned to her bench, her breath caught in her chest. There, lying atop the open tome that had so sedated her, was a pale blue crystal. The stone, smooth to the touch and oval in shape, had a pure clarity that made the sparkling fire at its depth shine so brightly it looked like the evening star. Laek had seen many such stones in her time, for they came from her home, from Alfheim, but never one so perfect, so incandescent.

Dropping the riddle book, she had picked it up with trembling hands, and then, unable to do anything else, had run to her rooms, thrown herself on her bed and wept, clutching it to her breast. It was home, a talisman of all that she missed in this strange land.

She had asked the next day, in a shy, anxious voice, if the librarian on duty had seen where it had come from, who had left it. In response, she had gotten a terse "no" and a lecture on leaving her books unshelved when she was finished with them.

Eight days later, she had been walking in the garden as the first stars rose, blue stone secreted into her pocket so she could feel it cool against her hand. When she reached her favorite bench where she always stopped to gaze up at an unobstructed view of the heavens through a circle of elder trees, she found a flower. Placed carefully in the exact center of the bench, it was a perfect red rose, a flower that she had only read of until then. It grew on neither Asgard nor Alfheim, but was prized on Midgard for its beauty. She raised it to her nose and inhaled the lovely aroma, a soft smile coming to her lips.

After the rose, it had been a snowflake, perfectly preserved between two pieces of glass found in her cubby in the healer's quarters. Larger than any she had ever seen, she knew it could only come from Jotunheim, home of the fearsome Frost Giant. How anyone could have gotten it, let alone why they would have left it for her was a mystery she couldn't begin to explain. Still, the gesture touched her deeply. Someone had noticed her, other than to sneer or pity. Someone was being kind. She only wished she knew who it was.

Laek began to hope for the small tokens, to take greater note of her surroundings in case some small item were to be slipped in. It was a good thing, too, as she could easily have injured herself had she accidentally sat on the twisted puzzle box made of small metal daggers that had obviously come from Nidavellir. She spent all that night unlocking it, to find a bright green gem set on a silver chain within.

The tokens made Laek's life exciting again. Oh, she knew how pathetic that sounded, but she didn't care. She had a friend, even if they didn't make themselves known to her. Every time she searched the area where a gift was deposited, there was the same result. No one had seen anything. No trace was to be found of the person who had left them.

When they stopped, she was devastated. Three weeks went by, and there was nothing. Not in any of the places she frequented. As time went on and no further offerings of friendship appeared, Laek grew despondent. Perhaps whoever it was had found a new game, a new way to pass the time that did not involve the strange Liosalfar who was all alone on Asgard. On the day that marked a month passing with no new token, Laek begged off early from the infirmary, pleading fatigue of her own, and returned to her quarters. She knew it was silly to feel so bereft, but she could not help it.

She was aware something was wrong the moment she opened the door to her outer chamber and her eyes shifted to amber. She had magic deep within her, at her very core. A warding over her rooms, her sanctuary, was a automatic outcrop of that magic. She could tell beyond a shadow of doubt when someone had breached that warding, no matter how subtle the magic the intruder had used. Tiptoeing silently, she made her way towards her bedroom, where a quiet rustling could be heard. Opening the door, her eyes went to a figure standing over her bed.

"Frjosa!" she said, arm twisting out towards the intruder, who instantly froze in place.

With a pounding heart, Laek pushed door the rest of the way open and gaped in stunned disbelief. There, next to her bed, was the frozen form of Loki, Prince of Asgard, Odinson. She had caught him just raising his head, his green eyes wide with surprise as the spell hit him. His hair, dark and straight, brushed against the collar of his green tunic ornamented with gold. One elegant, long fingered hand was extended towards her pillow, and in it was grasped a rolled up piece of parchment tied with a green ribbon.

"What in all the Nine?" Laek said allowed, staring at the frozen prince.

Why would he be in her room? It made sense in one way, only a strong sorcerer would have been able to break her wards and enter. She knew he was known for his mischief, had he had some prank in mind to play on the unsuspecting foreigner thrust into their midst? With his mastery of magic, he could pull any number of tricks on her.

Shaking her head in confusion, Laek made a small motion with her fingers, and unfroze his body, still, however, containing him within a parameter of limited space.

"My Lady," he gasped, a flush of red suffusing his cheeks. "I pray, forgive me my intrusion."

"You," she said, stupidly.

"I am Loki," he told her, sketching a courtly bow.

"Yes, I know," she replied with a little laugh, feeling her eyes shade to blue as she blushed. He was royalty and handsome as sin, she could hardly not know who he was. "I am Laek of Alfheim. But I suppose you know that, since you are in my room."

"I do," he admitted with a small nod of his head. "Again, a thousand apologies for my trespass."

"But why are you trespassing?" she asked, tilting her head as she stared at his handsome frame. She could feel his magic pulsing from him, attempting to find a chink in the stasis field she had him trapped in. Only in her own chambers would she be able to confine one as strong as he she knew.

"I don't suppose you would believe this is a shortcut to the armory?" he asked with a devastating smile.

"Through my bedroom? I think not."

"Ah, well then."

"What is that you have in your hand?" she demanded, noticing how he was attempting to hide it behind his back.

"Nothing," he said shortly, blushing again.

"It is not nothing!" she approached him warily, as one would a cornered animal. She knew he could do no magic, not bound as she had him, but that did not mean he could not use physical strength should she come too close. Against that, she had no defense unless she chose to freeze him again, and such a course would not yield the answers she sought.

"Your magic work is commendable," he praised her, sending a spark of something warm shooting through her. "Normally I could break a spell such as this in a matter of seconds, but your construction is seamless."

"You are in my nest," she shrugged, inching closer. "It is the way of our kind to protect our homes."

"Perhaps you could teach me," he smiled again, unleashing a lethal charm for one so young. She felt her own lips begin to tilt up, struggled to get them under control.

"Perhaps," she said non-committaly. "Once I know your intentions."

With speed that she knew surprised others not of her race, Laek's hand shot out and snatched the scroll from his hand. He made an unconscious noise of protest, but she had it out of his reach before he could grab it back. Was it a spell, she wondered? Some joke he sought to play on her? Biting her lower lip, she untied the ribbon and unscrolled the crackly parchment.

Her eyes widened with shock as she read the words written in an ornate, ancient hand. It was Vanir in origin and dialect, but the words were not a sorcerous incantation, but rather a poem; a rather romantic, lyrical poem set in a forest by night.

"I meant to be gone before you found that," he stammered. "I had no wish to embarrass you."

"You!" she breathed, realization hitting her. "You are the one who left all the tokens for me!"

Her left hand dipped into her pocket to grasp the blue stone, while her right flew to the green gem around her neck. Her eyes flicked to her bedside table, where the rose stood in a crystal bud vase next to the pressed snow.

"I did," he admitted, not meeting her eyes. "I ran out of locations to leave them for you. You go so few places. It took me weeks to breach your warding and make my way in here. I never expected you to return so soon. It is not your normal habbit."

He was babbling, she realized. As though he were the nervous one.

"Why?" she asked, at last. "Why leave them for me?"

"You seemed so lonely," he said, arms coming across his chest and head ducking down defensively. "Always by yourself, not really fitting in here. It caught my attention."

"It did?"

"Yes," he said softly. "I know a bit what that is like. Let us say, it piqued my curiosity. An easy thing to do, in truth. I watched you often in the library. I spend a portion of most days there. Tracked what you read. It seemed you had a desire to see the worlds."

"I do," she admitted. "I always have."

"I know a bit about that too. I know of course that you are here for study, and what a demanding teacher Eir can be. I trained under her for a century or so myself you see. I thought, if you could not go to the world, perhaps the world, or a small representation of it, could come to you."

"A stone from Alfheim, a snowflake from Jotunheim, a puzzle and gem from Nidavellir, a rose from Midgard, and a poem from Vaniheim. You went to all of those places? Found these things?"

"I did," he said, as though it were nothing. "It is easy enough if you know how. I admit, I was stumped as to what I would do when I reached Helheim on my list. Even I might have difficulty breaking in and out of there."

"Again, why?" she asked, staring at him with wonder. "It must have been so difficult. Why go to all that trouble? You might have just talked to me."

"I like a challenge," he said proudly, lifting his chin. After a moment though, his eyes dropped. "And I did not know if such an overture would be accepted. I am not... well liked or understood on Asgard."

"That makes two of us," she laughed, a bit breathlessly.

"I suppose it does," he replied, chuckling himself. "My dear Laek, do you think you might undo the stasis barrier? While it is causing me no physical distress, the wound to my pride is nigh on unbearable."

"Of course!" she said at once, moving her hand in a lateral swipe that dissolved magic.

"Thank you," he said with a deep breath of relief.

"I liked the gifts," she told him quietly, suddenly feeling shy now that he was free.

"Did you?" he asked, stepping towards her.

"They are all that has made these past months bearable on this planet."

"You are all that has made the past months bearable," he said, gazing into her eyes in a way that made her breath catch. "Before you arrived, I was miserable. Nothing changed, everyone was the same. Then you appeared, and I couldn't breath. I wanted... needed to know you."

"Me?" she she breathed in awe.

"You. Have you no idea how beautiful you are? And then to discover you were smart as well, gifted in magic, and curious to boot? For the first time in centuries there was someone in this accursed realm besides my mother who I thought I might understand. Who I wanted to know. To know in so many ways."

"You could have said hello," she said, feeling far out of her depth as he stood so near to her, took her hand in his.

"I could have," he said. "I chose not to. Can you forgive me?"

"Yes," she said simply, willing in that moment to forgive him any sin.

"Will you let me kiss you?" it was the uncertainty in his voice that touched her the most. He honestly didn't know if she would allow it.

"Yes," she said again, transfixed.

He was slow, gentle. His lips touched hers softly at first, brushing against her like silk. When she tilted her head towards him, he sighed into the kiss and gently lapped against her lips with his tongue. Laek opened her mouth willingly to him, inviting him to explore, to taste her. His arm came around her waist and pulled her flush against him as her fingers fanned out over his chest. He at last pulled away from her, leaving little nipping kisses on her lower lip as he did.

"Minn svass," he murmured as he gazed at her. "Your eyes are crystal."

Laek blushed crimson. She could tell from his smug voice that he knew what crystal meant. Her truest color. She wanted him. Wanted him desperately.

"Do not be embarrassed, sweetheart," he smiled. "Mine would be too."

As he took a step away from her, her eyes drifted downward and she saw the proof of his words, tenting his trousers.

"I would not disrespect you," he told her in a rough voice. "Would court you as your station deserves."

Laek bit her lower lip, struggling for words, always a problem for her when her emotions ran high.

"Could you not disrespect me just for one day?" she asked at last, flashing him a nervous smile.

A slow, wide grin spread over Loki's face as he stepped back towards her, pulled her into his embrace.

"I can do that," he practically growled at her.

He was kissing her then with a newfound ferocity, claiming her mouth, her neck, anywhere he could find flesh. Her hands fumbled at the hem of his tunic, and he raised his arms to help her pull it off. Her dress quickly followed, and he tumbled her down onto the obliging mattress just inches away.

"So beautiful," he groaned, eyes wandering her body where she lay naked before him. "Delicate as a flower and all for me."

"Loki," she panted as he devested himself of his trousers and stood before her in all his glorious nakedness.

She guided him into her, sweet and wet and open to his invasion. Her slim legs rose to wrap themselves around his hips as he buried himself within her walls. He had wanted her for so long, the beautiful, alien woman who had captured his interest from first glance. The reality was even more perfect than he had imagined. She was soft yet supple, molding around him as he thrust within her. He could feel the magic that was part of her very being, and it mingled with his own in a way that made their coupling more intimate than he had ever known it could be. When he felt her walls clamp down around him, felt his own release pump warm and strong inside her, filling her, it was with an intensity he had never experienced before. He cried out her name, almost as though in prayer, heard his own name called back with equal urgency and bliss.

When at last they could breath again without panting, Laek lay cradled in Loki's arms, head resting on his slim, muscular chest. One of his hands toyed lightly with the stone around her neck, and she smiled at the thought of him finding it for her.

"Promise me," he said to her, "that you will wear this always."

"I promise," she told him without hesitation.

"Tomorrow I begin to court you officially," he reminded her.

"I look forward to it," she smiled at him with a dreamy smile. The smile faded after a moment as her crystal eyes sought his green. "Loki, I have been so lonely."

"Think not on that, love," he told her, covering her with his body. "I am with you now, and you will never have to be alone again."

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unicyclehippo · 4 years

Note

prompts?: beau - shattered OR jester - poisoned. physically or emotionally lol

haha i’ve got a great idea, y’all are gonna hate it

The fog that steams from the bull - the massive bull, its strange, swollen form gigantic in improbable ways, metal muscles strapped upon metal muscles - has them all coughing, lungs seizing. It isn’t like the poison that had splattered from the zombies only a couple days ago (and it’s that awful, isn’t that bizarre, that Jester can know such a thing, that she knows exactly what it feels like to be covered in the burning, pitting stuff). Breathing in the fog is like breathing in dust, the particles gritty on her tongue, and she can feel it coating the inside of her. She doesn’t realise, at first, what it does; Jester backs up out of the cloud, sleeve covering her mouth and nose (not that it helps) and looks for her friends.

When the fog settles, another layer of stone-dust over the brittle forest floor, they’re all still standing. Caleb is clutching to the roots of a big tree, Caduceus not far from him. Nott is hovering in mid-air - which is super fucking cool - and Yasha looks fucked up but intent on the bull. Fjord looks the worst out of all of them, bleeding heavily from where the bull had gored him.

And then she sees Beau.

She’s standing directly in front of the bull - has one arm cocked back, the other counterweight, legs braced. She looks like she’s about to punch the thing again. Only, her arm doesn’t move.

Grey begins to flake from around her mouth and nose so fast that Beau’s face doesn’t get the chance to change expressions from the deep, intense scowl she wears - her fighting face, with a little extra scowl thrown in after what the bull had done to Fjord. It’s good, in a way. That she’s scowling.

Jester wouldn’t know what to do if she looked scared.

The grey hardens. Disguises some of Beau’s features with the texture of stone and keeping others smooth and fine as though she had been lovingly scultped from it - the curl of an ear, the sharp cut of her left cheek and eyebrow, almost detailed enough to capture the bump of her scar. It continues. Down her neck, flooding down her body, over her clothes and the sparking gauntlets to the tips of her fingers, to her boots dug an inch into the sand and soil.

It happens so fast.

Someone screams.

The bull takes one step back and another. Yasha’s sword gleams, sunlight slicing through the air, catching on rust and blood; it screams as it makes contact with the beast, metal clawing across metal.

The bull ignores her. It lowers its head, scuffs its hooves into the sand and dirt. And it charges.

It happens so fast.

Beau is fighting the beast, then she is petrified, and then - then she’s gone.

Someone is screaming again and there is no doubt in Jester’s mind at all that it’s her. There’s no room for doubt; there isn’t enough room, even, for the agony that rips through her as she watches Beau shatter. The agony has to go somewhere and it rips from her throat, brittle like stone, cold as ice, and the bull is engulfed - a column of flame exploding from beneath its hooves. And a crown of ice, shards embedded deep into the forehead of the thing.

Jester doesn’t see it, doesn’t see the way she has lashed out at the thing. All she sees is Beau - the statue that was Beau - as it splinters into hundreds, thousands of pieces. Far too many pieces. Parts of her dust now.

Too soon, too soon, too soon. This doesn’t happen yet - Jester saved her from the fucking hag for this? This doesn’t get to take her yet.

The symbol is in her hands. Her hands are glowing, the symbol is glowing, both are glowing with a verdant light, and for an instant the world stands still.

They will tell her, later, that her eyes were glowing too. They do not tell her that she was still screaming. The world stood still and silent - silent, that is, save for Jester screaming Beau’s name.

The Traveller - Artagan - whoever he is - appears in a burst of that same green light. His hair is a wild mane around his head, leaves and twigs and a distressed looking beetle strewn throughout as though he had been dragged backwards through a hedge and deposited before her. He regains his composure with a bubbling laugh, opens his hands wide in welcome.

‘Jester! What a surprise!’ His smirk curls into a smile. ‘I didn’t know you could do that - how fascina-’

‘Heal her.’

The Traveller blinks. Turns to look over his shoulder. ‘Who - ah.’ The Traveller bends to examine the broken statue, touches just the tip of a long, white finger to one shattered portion and examines the dust that clings to his finger. When he stands again, turns back to face Jester, it is with a face of true and deep regret. ‘Jester,’

‘Heal her,’ Jester interrupts before he can say it.

‘Dear... There’s nothing I can do.’

‘Heal her!’

‘Healing I can do. Restoration, I can do, but this?’ He waves a hand toward Beau. What is left of her. ‘This is - not my domain. I’m - I’m sorry, Jester. Truly, I am.’

Jester stares up at him. For only the second time that she can clearly remember, she sees the face of the man who is her god and her mind empties of everything except for this white-hot agony that lances through her chest with every breath.

‘You - you need to at least try.’ He sucks in a breath, pain dark in those luminous eyes. He tries to step forward, to hug her, and she holds up a hand between them. The symbol - his symbol - still held in it so tight it bruises. ‘Please,’ she cries, ‘Please, Traveller.’

‘This isn’t my domain, Jester,’

‘None of this was your domain!’ she yells. Tries for anger, but cold tears pour down her cheeks. Cutting through the crusting stone-dust. ‘Being a god wasn’t your domain! But I’m your follower and you’re my god and - and - and you said that my faith changed you.’

The Traveller stares at her. His eyes shift from their glowing green to the dark of the forest floor, deep shadows. ‘That’s true,’ he agrees.

‘So, so, if I believe that you can do it, then...’

‘Then theoretically,’ he continues from where she trails off, and in the deep shadows of those eyes there is a glint of light, a golden spark hidden at the bottom of a deep, green still pool. ‘I could do it.’

Jester swallows. It hurts, her throat raw, stinging. ‘Not theoretically,’ she rasps. ‘You can do it. You have to do it.’

‘If you believe I can. Do you believe, Jester?’ he murmurs. ‘In me? That I can do this?’

Jester looks from him, to the statue, and back. ‘Yes.’

‘You have to be certain.’

‘This world isn’t right without Beau. It’s not - it’s not.’

The walls of this world, this space, this frozen time she has created shivers. Threatens to break along with her voice.

The Traveller reaches out and touches her chin. ‘You’ve learned a lot about me recently,’ he says softly. ‘It would shake the faith of anyone. Even you. But this? Your faith - in me, in her, in the way this world should be? I can work with this.’

He reaches out then, not with his hands but with his power, and begins to pull and pull and pull from her. It starts small, like the tickle of a healing spell, and then grows and pours and floods from her until it feels like every healing spell Jester has ever cast, every restoration, like a swarm of bees is trapped beneath her skin, and the tattoo that hugs around her shoulders begins to burn hot and cold and cold and cold and

She’s screaming still and it finally breaks as Jester collapses to her knees, breathing hard. Her fingers claw into the wet sand in clumps and she hacks, sucks in a rough breath.

‘Jester!’ A warm hand curls over her spine, another arm around her waist helping her up. The warmth blooms, sinks into her, soothing the scrape in her throat, the bruises and breaks in her skin. ‘Jester,’

‘Did it work?’

Yasha’s hand pauses in its wide circle. ‘Did what work?’

‘Did it - is she -’

‘Caleb got the bull -’

‘Not the bull, Yasha,’ Jester cries, and she pulls away, rips away from the reassuring touch. She can’t help the way her eyes flick up, drawn to where - ‘Beau.’

‘She’s - the bull did something,’ Yasha tells her, and the words come through faint. Like there’s cotton in Jester’s ears. ‘She’s stone. Like Caduceus’s family.’

Jester’s breath catches. She scrambles up despite the exhaustion that pulls at her like she is made of stone herself. Hurrying toward the statue, toward Beau, she sees the statue, the smooth, lovingly carved sculpture - sharp cheekbone and brow, the faintest hint of a scar. Exactly as she had been before.

‘I have something for this,’ Nott rasps, popping up at her side, and she begins to rifle in her satchel, glass beakers clinking in the depths of it. ‘It’s this oil, you have to use it within a minute of them being petrified,’

‘Then fucking do it!’

Nott scurries around Beau, climbs up onto her back and pours the oil over her shoulders, starts to work it into the stone and then her skin as the grey begins to fade, brown skin blooming out from underneath it.

Jester stares. Stares until the moment she sees blue eyes blink, stares until Beau drags in her first breath.

#cr tag #tagging my stories #prompt fill

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nott-is-brave · 4 years

Text

Out of Control (Caleb x Reader)

Request: Hey! Could I please request Caleb falling for a girl who uses wild magic and very unpredictable and really caring and doesn't wanna hurt people at all? He lieks her for her unpredictability and she likes him for his calmness and how controlling he is of his magic and stuff.

A/N: Thanks for the request! This ended up being a lot more angsty than I intended, but I guess I just couldn’t help myself lol. On the bright side, the school year is complete for me, so I should be able to post more often :) So, without further ado...

As Caleb always said, despite his typical caution and paranoia, there are certain times when calculated risks must be made. In the heat of battle, however, there was much less calculation involved.

The fight had been dragging on for far too long, in your opinion. Just when you and the rest of the Nein thought victory may be approaching, more foes seemed to appear from every direction. You deflected yet another blow from one particularly well-armored orc and fired a bolt of energy at it’s hulking frame. You could feel your muscles burning from fatigue as the adrenaline of diving head-first into the fight wore off, and knew that your spells were numbered.

You looked to the side just as a blade whooshed by your face, cutting through the air and slicing a thin gash into your cheek. You kicked the sword-holding goblin in the gut, sending it’s small form flying backwards several feet. A twinge of guilt gnawed at the back of your mind after hearing it’s yelp of pain, but you quickly reminded yourself that you should hold no sympathy for the creature.

Another burst of energy shot from your palms towards the armored orc, but it only scattered across it’s metallic chest plate and died out. It grinned wickedly, rotted teeth protruding from it’s grotesque face with a crackled laugh. It’s chortling was cut short, however, as three rays of fire found purchase on it’s midsection. You turned your head just in time to see Caleb holding up the Glove of Blasting, before your heel got caught on a tree root and you lost your footing. The forest around you was a blur of green as you hit the dirt. By the time you’d pushed yourself onto your elbows, you were surrounded by half a dozen snarling orcs and goblins, each with rusted blades and a bloodthirsty look in their eyes.

You couldn’t hear Caleb yelling for the others to help you over the pounding of your heartbeat. The creatures circled in, crude but incredibly sharp weapons at the ready. A couple of arrows from Nott here, an eldritch blast from Fjord there; even Jester’s giant lollipop did little to prevent the swarm of beasts descending in on where you lay on the ground. Sheer panic quickly clouded your mind, and you couldn’t hold back the ear-piercing scream you let out when you felt one of the blades jab into your side.

A deafening BOOM shattered the air as you released a surge of untamed, chaotic energy. The ground around you shook violently, several trees being uprooted from the blast. When your vision cleared, you could see that the creatures that had once surrounded you were nothing more than scattered chunks of flesh across the (now cracked) forest floor.

It took a minute for you to reorient yourself, which the rest of your team used to make short work of the enemies that remained. You slowly stood up, wincing at your newfound headache and leaning against one of the fallen trees. Your magic was unpredictable, that much you knew; however, you had never unleashed a surge as powerful as that. You barely had a chance to catch your breath before Jester came bounding over, a wide grin on her face.

“That was, like, the coolest thing I’ve ever seen! I didn’t know you could make such a big explosion like that! I bet you’re REALLY tired now, but we took care of the rest of the orcs and stuff, so maybe after you rest you can teach me to…”

You felt yourself tuning her out as you let your head droop, your hands finding the water flask that you kept attached to your belt. You took a long swig, the dryness in your throat subsiding as your eyes began wandering again. The blast reached about 75 feet in every direction. Trying to take in the full extent of the damage, you almost missed the blot of soft pink poking out from one of the nearby collapsed trees.

“-which is cool, ya know, but it doesn’t really do that much damage, and-” Jester rambled on as you stood up, nudging her aside and beginning to make your way over to the tree. Your eyes squinted as you hobbled closer, trying to make out what it could be. Is it just an unusual rock? No, it’s… fabric? No, that’s not it, either… Oh God.

“Caduceus!” You shrieked, throwing yourself against the giant tree in an attempt to free your heavily wounded friend.

“-because, wait, what? Oh shit!” Jester yelled, darting over and quickly kicking aside sticks and rocks in an attempt to reach his shattered body. She grimaced as the rough bark of the tree scraped her skin, but she managed to squeeze her arm in just far enough to make contact with the top of his head and cast a healing spell. Whether it worked or not, you didn’t know. “Guys, we need help!”

It took everyone on the team to lift the tree just enough for Caleb to drag him out. Jester quickly cast Cure Wounds again, but to no avail. You felt tears prick at your eyes, the lump in your throat making it harder to breathe. Jester screamed frantically for someone to get the diamonds from the haversack as you turned on your heel and began limping away from the scene. This was all your fault.

You didn’t stop walking until the aching in your legs became too much to bear. Only then did you plop yourself on the ground against a tree, burying your face in your hands as the tears began to fall. You let out a choked sob and brought your knees closer to yourself.

You stayed like that for a long time, even after you managed to dry your eyes. Hurting a friend so severely filled you with great shame. Would the team even want you back? You were clearly a danger to them all.

The crunching of leaves nearby didn’t prompt you to look up. You didn’t even care if it was an orc; you just sat still and hoped they wouldn’t notice you so you could be alone. As the person drew closer, however, you recognized their footsteps instantly.

“Hey,” Caleb said softly, crouching beside you. You didn’t say anything. Several moments of silence passed, and Caleb cleared his throat. “So, that was, uh, quite the display back there, ja?”

“Is Caduceus okay?” You muttered.

“Oh, he’s fine. He woke up grumbling about bees and moss. You know, typical Duce stuff,” he responded. You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you sat up.

“I can’t believe I hurt him like that. What was I thinking?” You groaned. Caleb took a deep breath, sitting beside you.

“You didn’t mean to. You know, we have all made mistakes. Every one of us. What matters most is that you’re able to accept those errors, and use them to become a better person,” he explained. You nodded gently, leaning against his shoulder.

“I just… I just feel so out of control all of the time. I know it’s the nature of my magic, but I always feel like it’s my fault for losing composure, you know?”

“I understand that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, liebling.”

“I suppose not… I guess I just wish I had more precision with it, like you.”

“Perhaps we can work on that together, ja?”

“Heh, ja.”

#critical role x reader #caleb widogast #caleb x reader #caleb widogast x reader

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dirthavarens · 4 years

Text

Mirani Lavellan Bio;;

I have an entire history for this beautiful darling and haven’t had such an in-depth story for a character in a very long while.

As a child, Mirani Lavellan was a rambunctious sort, playing and tumbling as all young Dalish do. She learned the way of the bow by her mother’s teachings, while her father drowned her in lore and stories of the Dales. The legends fascinated her beyond measure. Young, wide-eyed, and captivated, the child knew she had to discover everything there was to know, even the stories that were forgotten. That was until, of course, she began to show great potential as a mage at the age of nine.

The Keeper had talked to the family years before, when the babe had been born, telling them that he sensed magic within her and if it came to fruition there would hardly be room for her in the Clan. Her father, Hairen, swore to the Keeper that she would pose no threat. Mirani’s mother, Asalai, however, wished to err on the side of caution, and asked if the Keeper would take to training the young girl enough to help contain her magic.

There was already a Keeper and a First of the age of twenty; with no room for a third mage in the Clan, she could possibly prove dangerous. It was the First to the Keeper, Athara, who proposed an alternative. She approached both the Keeper and Mirani’s parents and promised to take her on as her own apprentice. Destruction was not the only use of magic, as the Dalish well knew, and it was often the burden on mages to hold sacred the knowledge of the People.

With an agreement met, Mirani began her training, much to the disapproval of the rest of the clan. The Old Ways were being ignored. Of course, this meant great strides had to be made by the First.

Athara quelled the disquiet of the Clan by appealing to their Dalish pride. The Elvhen were of the first mages and their ties to the Fade were stronger than any other. It was Mirani’s right to be a part of the Clan, to hold dear the ancient truth that thrummed in the heart of every Dalish elf. She was safer among her own than left to the fate of the shem Circles and their templars.

Clan Lavellan tolerated her magical abilities due to her conviction in controlling them, despite her aptitude to find benevolent spirits in the Fade. Demons often sought her out in her youth, coming time and again in her dreams to tempt and taunt and try to possess. Athara taught her how to avoid demons and how to denounce them, even in the Fade.

With her training, Mirani never surrendered to these troubling entities, but often found herself running in her dreams. It was a truth she withheld from all but Athara. She was not a dreamer, but something similar to it, tied infinitely to the Beyond. This led her to several places in the Fade unfamiliar to even the Keeper of their clan. No matter where they ventured, which was far and often, Mirani made new discoveries in the fade and picked up more of the Elven language than most.

At the age of fifteen, only six years into her training, she decided to devote her efforts in both the waking and dreaming worlds studying her people’s history. The real history, and began taking little faith in the Dalish legends. Naturally, Hairen protested vehemently in the way she went about it. After all that she had learned in the Beyond, it was hard to take legends entirely on faith alone. Mortal men make mistakes in recounts of the truth over time, but echoes of spirits and memories long forgotten could hardly lie.

The Creators became more of cautionary tales to her rather than true Gods and the only ones she came to genuinely care for were Mythal and June. When it came time for her vallaslin, her keeper thought it best to exclude someone as noteworthy and powerful as Mythal. Instead, she received June’s mark, as she was a crafter in her own right. While she did not fashion bows or teach her people to hunt, she used what knowledge she gained to help her clan forge new devices from ancient information; new wards from old magic.

Only years later, when her research led her to explore the nebulous Fen’Harel, did her clan truly fear for her. The Dread Wolf who locked away the gods and kept them from ever reaching their people was to be feared and chased away at every turn. Never mention his name unless to curse another, was the philosophy held by the Lavellan. Mirani turned her back on such mythos, choosing instead to dive into whatever trace of the legend she could find. Mostly, her research led to dead ends and more questions than answers. Why lock away the gods both good and bad? Why only let himself roam free when nothing changed except the Elvhen? Why want all of that power and do nothing with it?

Unless there was more to the tale.

Her research often led her from the Clan, putting her in direct contact with humans and other hostile creatures. It was an acceptable tradeoff in the Clan’s eyes. With the third mage gone and Mirani left to her studies, both could peacefully exist. It was in nature and seclusion that she managed to fine-tune her magic, calling on whatever aid she could, often from spirits and the elements themselves.

On occasion, Athara and one of the Clan’s younger hunters, Terhavel, would join her, if only to keep her safe. But Clan duties would always call them back. Mirani held little against them. She would thank them for their companionship, but ultimately be relieved when they parted ways.

She found peace in the forests, taking days, if not weeks, to laze in the trees and befriend the benign wildlife. She would dive into untouched ruins and try to make sense of them. Oftentimes, they were of the Imperium, but that hardly stopped her from exploring.

However, exploring ruins did not come without a price. Ancient wards and traps were often still active and she was not impervious to them. At the age of twenty-four, a flame ward had been tripped and the entirety of her back was scorched. Luckily, she had not been far from camp and managed the walk back home if only thanks to the elemental magic she applied to her back.

The Keeper took the time to caution her of the path she wandered down, telling her that no good would come of it. If she continued on, she would find what she was looking for, for good or ill and he feared that it would not turn in her favor.

Even Athara found it impossible to fully sympathize with Mirani’s cause. Forging a path to such a dangerous destination could only result in tragedy. Asalai entreated her daughter to abandon the hunt and return to the Clan for good. She could trade books and such in the shem world, find rare gems if she could.

For a time, Mirani agreed, if only to appease those she cared for. The wound on her back kept her from leaving the Clan’s camp for what felt like ages, anyway. It was at that time she began to commit everything she learned to paper. Notes and drawings were scattered within her tent. The hunter, who had joined her, Terhavel, had become more and more of a friend as the days passed. Before long, the two went against tradition and found that they were physically compatible. Neither was in love with the other and thus complications remained at the wayside. There was no secret romance to hide, no awkward family discussion, no approval from the Keeper, just sex and studies.

When he showed interest in another of the Clan months later, Mirani actively encouraged him to pursue her and neither spoke of what happened between them. Within the year, Terhavel and his heart’s desire were bonded.

In her dreams, she tried to search for the spirits that had aided her for years, but found an eerie silence. It felt as though someone had intentionally thickened the Veil around her, beating on a wall where a door had once been. She felt drained most days, her magic weaker than before. The injury had long since healed, and yet she was still fatigued.

That was when she noticed the Keeper acting strangely as well. A quiet night at the fire with her father telling another Dalish folktale to the children brought about a great change in Mirani’s perspective. She caught sight of the Keeper looking lethargic and pulled him discreetly from the fire. When she inquired what was wrong, he insisted nothing, that it had been an especially trying year for all of Clan Lavellan.

The following night, Mirani slipped away from camp, choosing instead to sleep away from her fellow Dalish and found her magic and vitality restored. A suspicion that hadn’t crossed her mind had not only crept in but had been confirmed.

Then, Athara appeared from the underbrush.

Now twenty-five and old enough to know what trouble looked like as it approached; Athara looked like trouble.

“I fought against the decision to dispel you,” she professed before Mirani could offer a greeting. The night was warm and the breeze gentle from where the younger mage sat perched among a tangle of branches. Yet the words of her mentor wrapped around her like ice. “I even tried to override his spell, but he threatened to remove me as the First.”

“If this is your attempt at an apology, I would start over,” Mirani replied flatly. Her heart sat squarely in the pit of her stomach. How could the one person she trusted above all not tell her? “Why?”

“He feared you would leave again, that you would be possessed or killed. Deshanna wants only for you to be safe. He saw no other option that led to you remaining among us, da’len,” Athara explained as she took her place at the base of the tree.

Mirani gave a sigh and rubbed at her temples. They were Dalish, the so-called last of the Elvhen, yet she was caged at every turn. Caged for being a mage, caged for being a researcher, caged for exploring and leaving the camp. No wonder Circle mages were growing restless. They had to remain in the same building their entire lives; her tower at least had fresh air.

“Then maybe it’s time I take my leave. For good, this time.” Perhaps it was the only way.

“Lethallan, you would consider surrendering to the Keeper’s whims instead of finding another way? There are many in the Clan who admire you for what you do. They would never voice their support so actively, but you are not without friends among your clansfolk. Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel may be as stubborn as halla with a thorn in her hoof, but he is not without reason. Speak to him. You are a voice among our people, he must listen.”

Mirani looked out into the forest surrounding them and watched as the creatures of the night scurried about. Reasoning with the Keeper was hardly an easy task, even harder for her, given the rampant disapproval of her work. She knew she could survive on her own, but where would she go otherwise? The life of a roaming apostate would not be easy, especially in the Free Marches. With the proximity for Kirkwall and the rumors pouring from other Clans and the shems they encountered, there was a chance she would be caught and forced into Kirkwall’s Circle.

In order to make the Keeper see reason, she had to find it for herself first. Athara was always damnably talented at helping her do so.

“Alright. I’ll speak with him. If I can at least have my shackles removed, I’ll be content enough for now. I had no intentions of leaving permanently until this, Athara. If the Keeper cannot be made to see reason, then I won’t make promises to stay for it is one I cannot keep,” she declared, her defeated words an echo of the ache she felt deep into her soul.

“Should I tell the Keeper you will return in the morning, then?” asked her former mentor. “He will come looking for you if nothing is said and I’d rather avoid conflict if possible.”

“Tell him what you want. I need tonight to think.”

Athara turned to leave.

“And Athara?” Mirani called down to her. “Thank you for coming to talk to me.”

She smiled. “Anything for you, da’len. I just wish it was under better circumstances. I sometimes miss our old adventures.”

Mirani said nothing in return, only nodded her agreement.

The following morning brought the debate, Mirani now with a level-head spoke to her Keeper. Deshanna was displeased with Athara, but there was nothing to be done about it. He had been found out and his reasons were selfish ones.

“I see now, da’len, how my intentions could be misconstrued,” Deshanna surrendered. “You are no immediate danger to our Clan, but there are other dangers that could arise from your endless hunt.”

“So rendering me too weak to use my powers would accomplish that? Would you strip a curious hunter of her bow when she found a decent hunting ground?” Her return was level, but fueled by the betrayal she felt. “Keeper, I devoted my life to serving this Clan as a researcher and historian. I am not a teller of tales as my father. Nor am I a hunter of my mother’s skill. I am simply a mage caught in an old fear of a gift granted to us simply by our Elven blood. I would never harm the Clan or abandon it simply to fuel my own ego. This is our history I’m looking into. I just want to get the story straight. I fail to see how my magic interferes with the truth.”

“You’ve made your case, Mirani. I am not here to doubt your commitment to Clan Lavellan. There was another mage, the first to her clan, who resorted to blood magic to find answers about the people. I did not want to see you share her fate.”

She knew of whom the Keeper spoke. A member of the Mahariel clan had left her people to restore a corrupted eluvian. There were even rumors that she bargained with a demon to do so. It seemed blood magic and demons often went hand-in-hand. But demons posed a threat to any mage.

It was Athara who spoke from Mirani’s side.

“She would not resort to such desperate measures, Keeper. In the years I have traveled with her into whatever ruins she found, never had it even crossed her mind. I taught her the dangers of such practices early on in her training. She knows the horrors it brings.”

“I do not believe I was speaking to you, Athara. She was not to know the ward on her was present,” Deshanna snapped back. It was the first time he raised his voice.

“It should not have been placed upon her in the first place. I tried to tell you before that she wo--”

“It’s alright, Athara. You don’t need to speak for me. Ma melava halani. And for that you have my sincerest gratitude,” Mirani placed a hand on Athara’s shoulder in thanks before returning her attention to the Keeper. “To you, I make this promise, if any of my research proves too dangerous I will withdraw. If it leads me to something that may bring harm to the Clan, I will not return.”

“I do not want it to come to that, da’len, but I fear there is no changing your mind,” the Keeper relented with dissatisfaction. He took a moment’s pause then with a great breath and a few Elvhen words, lifted the hex. “It brings me sorrow to see the path you wander, but I know I cannot halt your footsteps any further.”

The next three years were spent as they had been before, this time with Mirani having at least one hunter with her at all times when she left the camp. The Keeper said it was for protection, but she was certain it was to supervise her like a child. She limited her expeditions to a week at the longest and did not plunge as deeply into caverns and ruins as she wished.

Then came the news from the shem world. The Conclave between mages and templars was something of great interest to all living people, from elves to qunari. There was little argument from Mirani when the Keeper tasked her with finding out what exactly was going on. This would be the farthest she traveled from Clan Lavellan, a chance to truly stretch her legs and get a sight of the outside world beyond trade and occasional run-ins.

She said her goodbyes to her parents and a few others of the Dalish wished her safe travels and offered items for her to take on the journey. Her final goodbye was to the woman who mentored her. Athara knew the farewell was permanent, that Mirani would not be returning to the Clan. If there was news to be had of the Conclave, it would come in the form of a letter and perhaps a package useful to the people.

They kept their goodbye short, not wanting to keep the other from her duties, but not so short that Athara could not offer her a necklace with a small carved halla head and a statuette of a wolf.

“I know you have your doubts in the Creators, but may Ghilan’nain guide you and Fen’Harel never find you.” Athara’s words were laden with the tears that could not fall from her eyes as she placed the necklace upon her. She wrapped her arms around Mirani and held her tightly in an embrace. “You are as graceful and as beautiful as the halla and as valiant and strong as the wolf. May your journey be a blessed one, da’len. Dareth shiral.”

“Ma serannas, Athara. Keep the Clan safe. I will try to send good news,” Mirani promised as she tucked the wolf into her pack.

The journey from the Free Marches to Ferelden was made with both excitement and caution. The humans she dealt with looked down upon her for being both an elf and Dalish. She was even more looked down upon when she revealed her magic in a moment of defense. One of the sailors tried to get too close whilst drunk and ended up with burn marks along his hands and chest. The rest debated throwing her overboard, but she remained well-hidden for the remainder of the voyage.

tl;dr? she’s not the first to her keeper and she’s basically a fade nerd who likes to nap and find new magics to test out as well as learn elvhen history. i stan, thank you.

#my writing #???#is that a thing i can tag this as #idk #but anyway #lavellan #dragon age #inquisition #dai #mirani lavellan #she's my baby and i stan her so hard

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simpingforthisonedeer · 4 years

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Chapter 7: Silver

Summary: tw: non-graphic suicide attempt but other than that, the chapter is completely sfw. The final battle with the diamond kingdom.

Notes:

- Today's chapter is shorter than usual bc im working on making the other chapters sfw so rewriting scenes, deleting them, making some stuff into innuendo etc so more people could read.

- I like to write bit more for the side characters because everyone's the main character of their story but they are relevant to the plot trust me ;)

- Be sure to check the notes at the end <3

Aika danced between spells aimed at visible enemies as she strolled towards Julius’ general direction. She took mental notes of his general attitude on the battlefield as she fiddled with her amulet, the same one she used in the Headquarters to move around unnoticed. The Amulet of Ignorance, the single most expensive magic relic Aika possessed, didn’t make her invisible, but it rather made everyone ignore her presence. If anyone were to look in her general direction, their eyes would glaze over and their gaze would move elsewhere.

Her own gaze landed on Julius’ figure, whipping around too quickly for ordinary eyes to track, but her eyes and brain processed images faster than any other man, except perhaps the only other Time Mage. She focused on observing his technique as she ignored the pangs in her heart. It’s been a week but he was still fresh on her mind.

Aika wondered if he would end up being one of her regrets.

She sighed heavily and put her feelings aside for the moment.

Julius may seem like all sunshine and smiles, but on the battlefield, he was vicious as he made split-second decisions and cut down enemies with efficiency. Clouds of enemies-turned-dust flew around him like an Augury, warning any and all of their fate if they foolishly chose to fight him. She noticed how he used the Chronostasis over a large area and immobilized enemies, but the spell only expanded so far if it touched someone first.

“He could improve that technique with mana method,” Aika thought as she moved her attention over to Evan and Jayce who insisted on fighting. Evan with his Hellfire Magic was raining literal hellfire on the enemy troops while Jayce with his peculiar Shape Magic deftly changed the terrain to his advantage as he tested out his newfound swordsmanship. Aika’s lips quirked up in pride.

He insisted she teach him herself but she was reluctant at first because as much as he was a genius, he was incredibly lazy. But Aika caved into his puppy-dog eyes and taught him the basics but he quickly developed his own style with the foundational knowledge and wielded his strangely-shaped sword quite well. He was no match for Aika due to her decades of experience but most mages these days don’t know how to counter swords well so he was pretty deadly on the battlefield.

Aika sidestepped a falling body as she winced at the mage in pity. It was an enemy mage, but she muttered a little prayer nonetheless to ensure his soul would rest in peace. Perhaps she should start praying after battle again. She used to sing a hymn in her fighting days to ensure the battlefield wouldn’t be tainted by restless souls and she could deign to do it again.

Right as she came to a decision about which prayer to use, an arrow struck her chest, more specifically her precious amulet. She stared in shock at the archer who had even detected her in the sea of mana. The masked archer lowered their bow and looked at Aika almost tauntingly before disappearing behind a hoard of mages charging at each other.

She wanted to go after them, but her first priority was to dodge the mages who turned on her because a mysterious woman just materialized out of thin air. She didn’t even have any identifiers such as a crest or a uniform, so as far as everyone is concerned, she was their enemy. She was glad that her scarf at least covered the bottom half of her face.

Aika cursed when she noticed from the corner of her eye that Evan had begun his ultimate spell.

Another reason why she was observing today’s battle was to contain the range of Evan’s spell, “Hell on Earth,” but this was not the time. She tucked the broken amulet and arrow into her cloak pocket and shot up into the sky with a sigh. She loved her amulet, but she could afford to mourn later.

Aika threw her hood over her head until it covered her eyes and spread her biggest Mana Zone spell—Queen’s Domain—until it encompassed the whole battlefield. She peeled off her black leather gloves, which suppressed her mana, and unleashed her aura of forbidden magic and smirked at the poor bastard who fell out of the sky when he neared her on his broom. The three horns that sprouted from her forehead lifted the cloak and her vision zoomed in on the growing sphere of blue flames, swelling and stopping at the impossible size of 100 meters wide in the distance.

Everyone on the battlefield froze as they stared in dumbfounded awe at the second Sun in the sky. The silence was deafening, but it only served to make the ringing in Aika’s ears louder as she concentrated on immersing her mana into the sphere and ousting Evan’s out.

Mana existed on a different plane, another realm if you will, but it had the special ability to affect other realms while staying in its own. But the opposite isn’t allowed. Controlling mana that wasn’t your own or in a way that wasn’t permitted by your magic was forbidden by the Gods themselves. In fact, interfering with other realms outside the limitations of your own given magic is forbidden magic.

Aika didn’t believe in limitations. She knew her potential was endless, as characterized by her grimoire. She sacrificed parts of herself to break through the ceiling above her, so Gods be damned. They can’t stop her.

A feral grin spread across her face as the Blue Sun slowly began moving as per her command. She controlled her breathing as she controlled two large spells simultaneously. One spell moved the flames, the other was Queen’s Domain, which combined with a sliver of forbidden magic, froze enemies in place at the sheer amount of fear coursing through their veins. She moved closer to the Diamond troops that were about to be annihilated for better control.

This magic brought out the worst in her, and right now, it relished in the screams that filled the air as the army in front of her lit up in flames. Aika ignored the ugly feeling and concentrated on her breathing again as she prayed. They even sounded like the damned.

Aika thought the battle had ended at the horrific scene she had created, but the Spade Kingdom joined the fray, forcing Master Raymond, the Wizard King himself, to join as well. After she had made sure Evan was safely off the field to recuperate his mana, she stayed high in the sky, away from most of the spells as she continued to observe Julius while keeping an eye out for the assassin who broke her precious amulet. Her heart nearly stopped when giant tree roots whipped around her to strike at the ground. How in the world was she supposed to expect roots to sprout from the sky?

As she maneuvered around them, she watched as the eye-catching hair of the Captain of the Silver Eagles fluttered in the distance. To her absolute shock, the man stayed completely still right before spikes of hard rock impaled him. Aika shot towards him with a bone-rattling bang and caught him right before he collapsed. A young man, that was the mirror image of Captain Silva, raised his spears of fluid metal at her, ready to strike but she froze him where he stood with a stasis spell of hers.

“Miss Tolliver?” Lord Silva breathed as blood dribbled down his chin. Aika’s weg vanished as worry and empathy filled her. She quickly threw up shields around them as she rewound the time until the spikes disappeared back into the ground.

“Yes, It’s me. Everything’s going to be fine. I can heal you—”

“No!” he exclaimed, then let out a violent cough. She stared at him in horror at the implication of his words and actions. “I don’t want to be healed,” he whispered, confirming her suspicions.

Aika began closing his wounds at a slow pace, slow enough so he wouldn’t notice.

“Why?” she asked mutely.

To her absolute shock, his stoic face crumpled as tears streamed like molten silver down his cheeks.

“I just want to see her again,” he choked out. He just wanted to see Acier again.

His tears and the sheer heartbreak in words made her heart clench. Aika steeled her resolve. She wasn’t going to let him do it no matter his reasons.

“No life is worth more than your own,” she spat, caught up in her own emotions. His attempt to take his own life brought back memories she would rather forget.

The Captain slackened in her hold, unable to retort. She instantly healed his wounds and watched as the blood receded. Aika picked him up with a sigh as he quickly lost consciousness at the abrupt changes to his body. Healing fatal wounds in this manner wasn’t recommended but it was necessary during battle.

“Is he alright?” Julius’ voice piped up out of nowhere. Her heart leapt to her throat. She turned around and there he was, a few meters away, brows furrowed, and eyes full of worry before they widened in surprise when he realized who he was talking to.

“Aika…”

The roar of the battle and the clanging in her head deafened as she took in his appearance. Wild hair, stormy eyes, blood-smeared cheeks and singed robes that whipped around in tandem to spells being hurled behind him.

She felt a sort of burning betrayal as she cursed her foolish heart because only one thought echoed in her mind:

He was breathtaking.

“Aika!” He exclaimed in alarm.

Julius was suddenly up in her space, forearm pressed against her collarbone as he pushed her aside. He stopped a flaming spear aimed at her back in its tracks as he barked,

“She’s an ally! Stand down!”

The Crimson Lion magic knight lowered his grimoire and looked helplessly at the frozen man next to him.

“Aika, please undo your spell on Vice Captain Nozel,” he commanded softly as she stared at him, wide-eyed.

Her spell fell as per his request and Nozel stumbled into an upright position, an indignant expression strewn across his face as he turned to Aika.

“Who are you? ” he asked shakely, and cleared his throat with an embarrassed flush.

“She is an ally, ” Julius asserted firmly. “We’ll take the Captain to the medical tent and you continue leading your men, understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” Nozel threw one last look at Aika before he ordered his men to focus on the enemy.

Julius turned to her with a grim face. “I will take us to the tent, if you are ready.” She nodded curtly. He laid an arm on her shoulder and she was whisked away, her vision adjusting to find that she was facing the heavy drapery of the medical tent.

A few healing mages around them jumped in alarm but quickly realized the injured man in Aika’s arms. She was quickly led to an empty bed with privacy curtains and she laid Captain Silva on it carefully as the healers took over and diagnosed him.

She explained his injuries and that she healed him but they wanted to be sure just in case.

Aika stepped back to let them do their thing and looked around to find Julius worryingly examining Silva’s prone form. He looked up and their eyes met.

Strangely enough, there wasn’t a shred of awkwardness in their gaze, but an intimacy of silent understanding, a mutual decision to set their yearning aside in the face of this war.

They both smiled in relief, almost in unison. He cocked his head at her.

“No hard feelings?” He mouthed. Aika nodded back, her heart lighter.

“No hard feelings.”

“I have to go,” he announced quietly as he bowed his head. She nodded again, her mood souring once more as she stared at the unconscious man next to her. She watched his back as he moved to leave the tent from the corner of her eye. She clenched her fist as indecision rocked within her, but she finally gave in to her first instinct.

“Be careful,” Aika called out. Julius whipped around in surprise and a grin lit up his face.

“Of course!” he replied eagerly, happy that she was actually speaking to him. “See you around!” And he vanished.

His enthusiasm brought a smile to her face but her mood was quickly interrupted by the sound of crashing waves as the ground shook. She braced herself against the metal railing of the bed’s headboard as she let out a heavy sigh.

That must be her Uncle Raymond with his grandiose water spells that could wipe out armies. She just hoped he wouldn’t use his mana zone spell that could choke people. That spell horrified even her of all people.

She shrugged off her backpack which stayed secure under her cloak and whipped out a chair. She plopped onto it wearily and glared at the silver-haired man next to her as if he was the reason for all her problems.

Aika slipped her gloves back on and rubbed her face with a groan as memories of friends and fellow comrades who have stood still and let themselves be ripped apart flashed in her mind’s eye.

She knew she shouldn’t care. He was not a friend of hers. In fact, he was quite rude to her, but this needless worry and giving into the empathy reminded that after all these years that she wasn’t corrupted, that she was still alive, that she was still human.

Aika watched with a proud grin as one last final move from Julius concluded the battle. Cheers erupted across the whole field when the Magic Knights realized their victory.

The Captains, with the exception of Silva, and the Wizard King gathered with the Diamond Kingdom’s Shining Generals to negotiate the terms of surrender. She desperately wanted to eavesdrop on their discussion but General Whomalt was still alive by the end of this battle and Aika promised him that the next time she saw him, he would be dead.

She made her way back to the medical tent and Silva was already up and about. He sat up on his bed and stared at his blanket-covered lap as emotions raced across his face. She silently strode over to her chair by his bed and he made no indication that he noticed her but Aika knew he did. He was most likely embarrassed by his moment of vulnerability in front of a near-stranger but she didn’t particularly mind it.

She sat down patiently and waited for him to speak but they just sat in silence.

“We won,” Aika informed in a subdued tone.

He grunted. His response irked her but she held her cool.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” She assured him kindly.

“See that you don’t,” he snapped at her. She held her tongue but couldn’t help but sneer at his tone. This was exactly why she didn’t work with the Magic Knights as closely. Most of them she had observed were quite rude and had a superiority complex. His attitude was only making her miss her amulet even more.

“Arian!” A familiar voice exclaimed as the tent flaps flew open. It was her Uncle. Mages and injured Magic Knights around her suddenly scrambled to attention as the Wizard King homed in on the silver-haired Captain.

“Sir,” the embarrassed Captain gritted out. He pulled out a folded piece of parchment paper as Aika and Raymond nodded at each other in acknowledgement. She would need to tell her uncle at the very least so she can make sure that he talked to someone.

“Are you alright, Arian?” The Praying Mantis Captain boomed as he walked right in after the Wizard King. He pointedly ignored him and the other Captains as they voiced their concerns as well. He tossed his blanket aside and stood up as he handed the paper to her uncle.

“My resignation, Raymond.”

“What?!” His eyes darted between Silva’s cool face and the crumpled paper. “But the war just ended! You have still got loose ends to tie up before the resignation.”

He adjusted his uniform gruffly as he said, “I’ll let the Vice Captain take care of it.” He pushed past the captains, eager to leave. “He is more than capable.” He turned and looked back one last time. “But now, I must say my goodbyes to the men that served me.”

“What's the hurry, Arian?!”

Raymond’s question was followed by silence as Silva left. Everyone watched tensely at the bizarre exchange that raised more questions than anything.

“Well,” the Blue Rose Captain began as she cleared her throat. “We did say that we were going to resign right after the battle.” Her sharp eyes turned to the Wizard King. “I will hand mine in, tonight.”

All Captains except one echoed her sentiments and Raymond’s shoulders fell as his age seemed to catch up to him.

“And I would be the last to resign,” he sighed. He looked up at Julius and everyone’s attention turned to the Wizard King to-be. “I hope you are ready, Julius.”

The young Captain stood up straighter, his eyes eager and attentive for the responsibility that will soon be thrust upon him.

“Though, I hope you do like paperwork,” Raymond laughed, knowing very well he doesn’t. “Because there’s going to be three times more work.”

All formality melted away as Julius groaned at the thought and the Captains laughed.

Aika released the breath she didn’t she realized she was holding. She just witnessed history firsthand, yet again, but it all felt so new to her. She touched her chest.

Oh.

It wasn’t newness, no. She had witnessed far too much to feel as if anything was new. It was actually the gratitude that set her heart racing.

Notes:

- In the future, Julius will get character development, because as lovely as he is as a person, he can't be a centrist as a leader if he wants to create real change. - In this fic, you'll see him be more proactive with the kingdom's problems and actually use his power outside the Magic Knights. - I'm not only planning development for his character but also his powers. As I have heavily implied throughout my fic, Julius is not human here and we will see that more in the future as the secrets unravel. - I'd personally recommend reading the wiki page on the tree of sephiroth and even better, catch up with the manga. But you don't have to, bc by the time i get to the manga spoilers part of my fic, the anime will prolly be there(fingers crossed).

#julius novachrono #black clover #demons run #black clover fanfiction #julius novachrono x oc #julius novachrono x reader #julius & aika #oc: aika tolliver #diamond kingdom #nozel silva #black clover nozel

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nikkywrites · 4 years

Text

Cemetery of Power || Caffeine Challenge 30

Lila starts her ritual. A friend begs her to reconsider. Part two to this.

Used the dialogue prompt and picture sorta.

This is edited a fair bit. Some for flow’s sake, but I did tweak Lila’s spell/ritual and it changes a bit from there. No major shifts, but you may want to give this a glance over if you’re following in the transfer. This encapsulates the kind of changes that’ll happen to everything.

*****

Lila strides out of the bar, blade pressed against her side, bell dinging over her head like a toll for death. She walks around the side, to the cold, bricked, dark alley. Spray paint tags the wall, still wet, a swirl of colors that is abstract to any human that doesn’t know better, but more to those who do. It’s a doorstop for the portal she’d opened to get there.

It leads to the woods. Long grass curling around her ankles, hooked fingers from below trying to pull her in with old magic imbued and rotten. Spindly, tall trees reach for the sun, jagged branches thirsting for magic that no longer lives under it’s cover. Magic migrates, like flocking birds, to where it is easy to live, to where those who practice it reside. When the nest is left behind, empty, the twigs and dirt and sky thirst for what is now gone. These grounds were sacred, once. Lila was going to make sure that they were again, if just for a single moment.

The buildings were long gone, overtaken by nature as the centuries dragged on, but the magic they had been built with, tempered with, housed with, remains. It will take more then time and earth to remove that.

It thrums under her feet, desperate, pleading. Lila unsheathes the Soul Dagger she’d dealt Xia unfairly into relenting. It should corrupt her, leak poison into her blood that explodes her mind, taunting her with all her thoughts of death. Lila isn’t a Soul Keeper. She doesn’t have a drop of it in her past, in her ancestry. But the blade will cooperate nonetheless.

It knows what she is and what she’s going to do. It will listen. Cooperate. It’s going to do what it was made for, regardless that it’s not Xia wielding it anymore. Not a Soul Keeper. It knows this is important.

It takes souls. Cuts the bond between body and spirit. Is an astral blade forged by the Fates, eons and eons and eons ago.

There are few things older than a Soul Blade. This one, Lila knows, happens to have come from the Cutter of String. The final Fate, the lesser Fate, the one who held the shears.

She walks through the trees, pulling against the magic in the ground, in the dirt, in the trees. It obeys, with that blade in her possession. So few know of Fate’s connection with Soul Keepers. Lila knows.

She knows of it’s history while also knowing of the corpse that lays in the ground here. An old body, an old soul, old magic that powers the plants to this day, however dwindling it is. Secret knowledge. Deadly knowledge.

Kneeling, she digs her fingers into the soft earth, malleable with power. She hums a few notes of an old spell-song. She stakes the blade into the ground, to the hilt. Light spills from the edges and she drinks some in, allowing it to strengthen her throat. She begins the chant.

The tongue she uses is old. Ancient. Powerful. Forgotten. Monarchs had crumbled under the taste of a single syllable, a fraction of a word, of a sentence, of a declaration. Now, it burrows and grabs and tugs.

Bones rise from the dark dirt, shambling into a skeleton’s form. With words alone, she assembles one of the oldest skeletons, restoring it to it’s original form. To pristineness. To smooth white instead of craggled yellow-brown. When assembled, she stops. Slowly, reverently, she glides her finger along the clavicle, a sharp jutting point.

“Ward,” she breathes, running her gaze along the forgotten fragment of life. The skull tilts, in response, empty eye sockets turning towards her. “I’m sorry.”

For everything. What she’s done. What she’s doing.

Taking the dagger from the earth, she holds it in her hand. Resumes her chant, lets the power of her words shake the air. His bones vibrate. Her fist tightens and she severs the spine where it holds the skull. The bones sparkle into luminescent powder. She coaxes it into her palm. She blinks at the stinging in her eyes.

Closing her fist and pressing it to her heart, she says the part of the chant, the ritual, the spell, that’s actually draining. Important. The point of no return. Magic spears her. She opens her palm and blows the lackluster dust from her palm. The grinded remains of his bones, unneeded anymore.

It sparkles in the air, hangs still like a puppet on the end of a string. Blows away in conjured wind and becomes nothing that will ever be assembled again. Together.

Lila’s marrow burns.

“What are you doing?” A voice sounds behind her, a familiar one that is too late.

She doesn’t turn, instead aids the invading magic within her, infuses it into her breath, her being, her soul. As sacrifice, she trades three inches of her hair and a secret long passed. Her skin changes, rippling into a darker shade, adapting to a thicker epidermis, the skin of a boy who had changed magic. Who almost became a god. A true Ever. Unforgotten. Almost, almost.

Finally, she turns to her visitor, with the enchantment accepted and progressing. Changing her.

“You know what I’m doing,” she says, dual-voiced like a doubled edged sword, hers and something deeper.

Colin looks at her, pity in his eyes like a corpse from a noose. “You can’t do this.”

Her hair recedes into her skull, shorter, thicker, lighter. “You’re to late to stop me.”

“Stop trying to be him,” Colin says, a plea instead of an order because she’ll never listen to that. “You’ll never be him. He’ll take you.”

She stands, bones shifting under her skin, breaking and shattering, painful but welcome. “I’m not doing this for fun.” The feminine lilt is receding, a background echo to his deep tenor. “I’m adopting him so he won’t be lost. You can sense it. Traders are hungering for a piece of him. He was rotting. It’s too dangerous for him to lie dormant any longer. He’ll rot this forest.”

Colin steps forwards, hesitant, arms raised. “He will consume you. That tongue will only keep him bound for so long.”

His eyes, wide and green, are begging her. Please. Don’t. It’s hopeless. Already too late. He’s a part of her now and if she doesn’t get rid of him quick, things will stay that way. He will consume her. But she has to try. Too much is at stake for her not to.

“It’s not for forever. But no one can get their hands on him. Not even the company.” She fixes brown eyes that aren’t hers on her friend, steely and serious. “He’s too much. He could be used to destroy Nons. For eradication. War. It’s too much, Colin.”

Tears light his eyes. “The Garden is sealed. You won’t make it.”

The old soul bubbles within her own; a temporary extension, a temporary half. “Together we can do it. We have to try. It’s his best chance.”

His tears fall. His face collapses on itself in preemptive grief. “You won’t come back,” he whispers, voice breaking like she imagines his heart is. He steadies his breathing as her outward transformation completes. “Why is this your duty? Why does it have to be you?”

She doesn’t have any more time to spare him the answer. It’s not an easy one anyways. It has things she can’t tell him in it. Things she keeps only to herself. It’s a hard answer.

But the short of it is that no one else is capable. For reasons both in her control and not. She is Ward’s only chance at peace.

Taking a breath, first and new in this body, she stands over him. Taller, body thin and boney. Once, he had fostered all life, protected something doomed to death with his kindness, turned tides of extinction into tides of evolution. Much of magic would be dead and lost if he hadn’t sacrificed all he did. If he hadn’t created all he did.

Unspoken, his name is just a series of letters to most, a category of spellwork to others, nothing in it’s entirety but something in fragments. To Lila, to long dead corpses, to something he bore that still remains, he is more. He belongs in the Garden, in the cage of ethereal vines that holds souls too powerful for Keepers to have and too powerful to sit in the earth he once breathed in.

He is too much to let lie. Important in ways that don’t matter. Corrupted too much by time to be harmless and giving and true to what he was. He must be moved.

The forest would change. The Garden would change. Her and her magic would change. Stepping forwards, closer to Colin and not, her footprints sink below the mantle all the way to the core, to molten metal and chunks of forbidden, ancient magic.

His aura, even in death and new not-life, is strong. Pungent. Trees bow beneath it, grass abating, life waning. Magic leaving the forest to die. To look the same but be hollow under bark and grass and sky. Sighing, she takes a step forward in the forest and finishes her next at the gate of the Garden. The cemetery of power.

Immediately, all remaining bits of magic left behind withers. Gone ebbs the fiendish pull of the call for blood, for death, for skin. Centuries among humans had turned his kind healing into vicious corruption. His magic had rotted over time and started trying to self-live, to sustain itself on outward life.

It had tried not to fade into obscurity. It knew what it was. What it did. It knew it did not belong where it was.

Haunted woods haunted no more, Lila brandishes his power and skin like a fleet of trained men. Tearing at rust, at vegetation, at gates made of celestial, intangible steel, she demolishes the veil of protection and starts lying his soul to rest among all the dead, among world domineering strength, among vile healing and kind destruction.

She takes an old soul and heals the world.

*****

I’m still proud of this. Apparently originally I wasn’t sure about it, but I like this piece. I have no idea how the core of it came in an hour, but this is something I’m proud of. A little big, maybe, in the scope of it, but good.

Poor Colin. He’s just trying to be a good friend, but he doesn’t understand.

#writeblr #writing #writblr #writers of tumblr #creative writing #nikkywritesstories #my writing #oc lila #everlasting world #soul keeper world #oc colin #repost from my old blog #i forgot about the end of this. the air of it #its nice #(that last line though)#its one of many that i like #this is probably one of the most solid things ive written for my writeblr so far #oddly proud of it #favorite

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ghost-ghost-baby · 5 years

Text

Scales pt. 3 //yan!bakusquad fantasy au//

uuugh i hate writing filler You were on bed rest for two days, Katsuki had almost exploded when he saw the damage you’d sustained, Kiri’s patch up job… hadn’t been the best. Katsuki seemed to be the leader, and able to do anything he set his mind to, which included keeping you in the middle bed, piled in with at least two of them at any given time. You’d… learned a lot about them! Mina and Denki had been teaching you more about magic, Hanta had taken over teaching you about healing, and Katsuki and Kiri would just… try to feed you? That god Katsuki was an amazing cook, honestly.

Denki and Sero were passed out next to you, and you finally saw an opportunity to explore. Soft snores echoed in your ears as you padded over to the weapons, grabbing yourself a dagger to slice through the back of the tent. As long as you had the intent to come back, it shouldn’t alert the bond, or Kiri, that you’d left. The tent backed into a forest, and your eyes lit up when you saw mulberry trees, running into the brush without a second thought.

Mina was livid when she came back to find you gone, and Denki and Hanta still sleeping soundly.

“Where’s Y/n?” Her voice was harsh enough to have them spluttering awake, panic clear on their faces when they noticed you weren’t anywhere to be seen.

“Okay, they haven’t gone far, we’d all feel that, I’ll go track them with Hanta, Denki can stay here to tell Katsuki and Kiri Y/n was feeling restless so we took them on a walk, can you handle that?” It was clear how irritated she was, neither man wanted to argue, merely nodding alone and doing exactly as she asked.

You were having the time of your life! You’d found a stream with plenty of nice rocks to sit on, and you amused yourself drawing on the stone or watching the animals. You felt…. weirdly at peace with everything. There was a slight feeling of unease in the back of your mind, but you easily blocked it out. Maybe you should go for a swim? You did tend to overheat and pass out… you didn’t want to get too hot. Loose shirt and pants placed in a neat pile,you tried not to feel too exposed in your underwear. Nobody was around, you’d hear them.

“Oh thank god!” A cry startled you, the shock making you lose your footing and fall into the water. It was only cool, thank god, a nice refreshing change from the growing heat outside. You only had a moment to enjoy it before you were being scooped up and pulled back to the surface, your face getting smothered in kisses as voices vied for your attention.

“Are you guys good?” You spluttered, wiping your eyes and stepping back so you could see which one of them it actually was. Hanta and Mina stared back at you with incredulous eyes, as if you were missing some huge part of something awful. “Well?”

“You just ran off!”

“We thought something happened!”

“Or worse, what if you’d tried to run away!” Their voices melted together as they checked you over, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“I was bored is all, and the tent is right there!” A whine made its way into your words, and the pair of them stepped back. You weren’t wrong.

“Just, tell one of us next time, okay?” Mina flashed you a smile, and a sigh of relief left you. Huh, you hadn’t noticed you’d been stressing.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

You ended up convincing them you were well enough to stay in the water, and Hanta yelled for Denki to come out before Mina had finished asking him to. The blonde only took a second, seeming to predict what was happening, and wasted no time doing a cannonball and splashing the three of you. Laughter filled the air as you played around in the water, dunking and splashing each other without a care in the world. Even Katsuki couldn’t be mad when he and Eijiro finally got back, the four of you just looked so happy.

“Are you sure they’re well enough for this?” The redhead was stripping nonetheless, wading into the water to check you over.

“I feel great Red, promise.” You reached your arms out expectantly, wrapping around Eijiro as soon as he was close enough.

“What were the two of you doing anyway?” Hanta asked Katsuki, who was somehow already in the water with everyone else.

“Deku called a meeting, apparently Shigaraki fully lost it and went on a rampage because someone stole his ‘pet’ or something.” His tone was nonchalant but you couldn’t help but flinch, pushing thoughts to the back of your mind even though it made the tattoo itch uncomfortably.

It’d finally gotten too cold to continue in the water, and Hanta had to carry you back after Eijiro went on about how ‘you’d done enough for today’ and ‘were still meant to be resting’. Anxiety had ruined your good mood, the resulting restlessness was going to drive you crazy. You were safe here, nobody knew anything. And nobody from Shigaraki’s could possibly know you were here of all places. You’d assumed a kind of… panicked calm, but luckily it confused the bond enough that nothing seemed off. It was easier than you thought to trick it, that didn’t mean you liked doing it.

“Y/n, you okay?” Mina cupped your cheek, effectively bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m just kinda tired.” You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, Eijiro rushing over as if he’d been listening the whole time. He probably had been.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” You batted his hands away when he tried to pick you up, you could still walk. “You’re still healing from everything, you know it takes longer after you burn yourself out.” He didn’t persist, settling to boop your nose instead. He was right, you both knew it. It could take twice as long for you to get back to full strength, and you’d… kinda overdone it in the water, so you settled down on his lap once the two of you were back in the bed.

“Where’d Denki and Katsuki go?” You only just noticed they were missing, you really needed to be more observant.

“They’re just getting diner ready, don’t worry love.”

Waking up alone was certainly a change, and panic shot through you as you sat up to look around. Denki and Mina were still there, and a relieved sigh made its way out of you at the sight.

“Good afternoon sleepy head, what do you feel like doin’ today?” Denki came over when he realised you were awake, carrying a tray laden with food. You picked at the fruit and bread as you thought, an idea coming to you within a couple of minutes.

“Well… there’s a healing spell I’ve always wanted to try… but I couldn’t even attempt it with just me, it should get me back to full strength.” You snuggled up to Denki, doing your best to get him to agree to your idea.

“Magic? Is that safe?” He cast a look at Mina, who bit her bottom lip as she thought.

“I suppose, if its spread between three people there won't be any noticeable drain on Y/n, I can’t really see a problem with it.” She shrugged, grabbing her bag from the tale. “Get dressed then, I’m assuming there are more ingredients we need to get.”

“There’s fresh mint over here!” You called, leaning down by the plant to pick a few stems. This forest had everything, it was amazing! You waited for the others to join you, you didn’t really have the desire to go off on your own, it didn’t feel safe. Luckily they were close behind, Denki unable to stop himself jumping on you as soon as you were in range. You didn’t know why he was so affectionate, worse than any of the others, but it’d grown on you.

“Okay, the only thing we need now is some mugwort, but there’s heaps of that around here.” Mina folded up the list you’d given her, gently placing it in a pocket of her bag.

“You guys really are the best!” You cooed, practically glowing as you hugged the two of them. A twig snapping had Mina and Denki on red alert, making sure you were between them as they looked around. You spotted the pair first, familiar figures that made your heart sink into your gut.

“There you are Y/n! We’ve been looking all over this forest for you!” Toga clapped her hands together as she spoke, a blush already covering her cheeks.

“Yeah, you didn’t make it easy.” Dabi was less enthusiastic, he just wanted to get the whole thing over with. “Shigaraki threw his biggest tantrum yet after your little stunt, you’re lucky you weren’t there.” Energy flowed into your hands on instinct, crackling and glowing, ready to fry anyone who made a wrong move. Thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to figure out what was happening and how you could stop them. If they said too much it’d be over for you, nobody could want you after that.

“I don't know who you are, but Y/n isn’t going anywhere with you.” Mina’s voice was downright terrifying, you almost flinched at the ice saturating it. Denki slid his arm around you waist, and when you looked down to his free hand you saw electricity crackling around his fingers. The air was so tense you couldn’t breathe, waiting for someone to just say something.

“Look, we’ve had a rough journey, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Dabi was smirking as he spoke, bright blue eyes fixed on your form. You hated how cocky the bastard was, something wasn’t right. You turned too late, Denki’s eyes wide as his fingers reached up to brush the dart jutting out of his shoulder and your heart stopped.

“Mina-!”

“I know.” She was already firing something at the pair, and you caught Denki just as he crumbled to the ground. Somehow you dragged him to a tree, leaning him up against it and making sure he was just unconscious before you went to help Mina.

Toga dodged the blast you sent her way, lunging at you and almost knocking you off your feet as you ducked out of the way. You were still weaker than usual and it was sickeningly obvious, you could only hope they didn’t know you well enough to pick up on it. She wasn’t giving you a moment to rest, repeatedly attacking you until you were backed up against Denki and the tree. A shield flared up around you, giving you the chance to see how Mina was doing. It wasn’t going well, none of you were prepared to fight, and she was already bleeding from multiple wounds. She needed to get out of here, but she’d never leave the two of you, you didn’t have enough energy to teleport more than one person. She knew where the others were, she could warn them, right? And you could take care of Denki from the inside, they’d never been good at locking you up. Light flared around Mina’s form and her horrified eyes met yours, the colour draining from her face as she realised what you were doing.

“Y/n, no-!” Her voice was cut out before she could finish the sentence, her body disappearing in a flash moments later. Your shoulders slumped, the rest of your body following until you were crumpled on top of Denki, and boots coming towards you were the last thing you saw before your eyes closed.

taglist under the cut lmao i rlly hope i got it right

@wolfygecko@baby-snart@frostfox328@ssnaketongue@that-one-piece-oftrash@emilysimaginesblog@generousdigitalartartghost@slowly-gently@toffee1812@izzys-complete-insanity@sexisquid@icecreamguru03@tessamarie22@peculiar-faerie@lunaralpha270@max7500@graduatedmelon@everstrange1@saltytocrusade@dark-side-blog2@tinyspacesaurus@shimyshimyagustd@teacaku@shinethesensational@yooalicee@radnickeltoadbat@superrllama@trinshappyplaces@kai-iaa@mini-kunoichi-universe@estellegladiolus@kirapholia@lemonmaim@skylerstorm2@phantomfunguschild@naked-canadians@meaper112@cute-cotton-tail@xxnatashahicksxx

#bnha x reader #yandere x reader #bnha yandere #yandere bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere kirishima x reader #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere mina x reader #yandere denki x reader #yandere sero x reader #yandere kirishima #katsuki x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere hanta x reader #yandere kaminari

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

Text

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Thirty

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex, mentions of miscarriage, hanging.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Some scenes and dialogue have been taken from the game!

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Epilogue

The sky was beautiful, a light blue and a dusky pink in some areas, orange in others.

Ada gazed at the colours, watching the sun slowly set behind the hills far away. All around her, crickets trilled gently and birds whistled softly. It was so still, so peaceful.

Folding her arms, she rubbed at one of them lightly, looking towards the faint outline of the mountains beyond the hills, Mount Hagen somewhere amongst them.

She hadn’t wanted to die. The moment the bullet had passed through Dutch to her, the numbness had fallen away, crumbled, and she knew she wanted to live. So fiercely she wanted to live, and it was all that had gone round and round in her mind as Arthur had taken her down to Valentine. Coming in and out of consciousness, she’d felt terrifying waves of fear, anger, grief, denial, and, in one moment, she truly thought she had died as finally peace had suddenly washed over her.

A corner of her mouth lifted a little. Morphine would do that.

Somehow, deep in her mind, she’d always known that the final moments on the mountain was what it would come down to; her or Dutch, one way or another. And, once upon a time, she wouldn’t have known what decision he’d have made.

They hadn’t spoken about what had happened since the night before they’d returned home. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t, not yet... though she’d had to with Thom, barely an hour after they’d arrived, in fact.

That had been a week ago, and he and Charlotte had left the next day, the former still cold towards her, the latter reluctant and apologetic.

“He just needs time,” her sister-in-law had murmured to her as they’d embraced, her lovely features full of concern for both of the O’Driscoll siblings.

“I know.”

Ada wasn’t angry at him, though, and she certainly didn’t blame him for being so, either.

Mercifully, they’d managed to prevent Millie from catching on to anything that had happened, despite the heated argument. She just thought her mother had caught a cold and bruised her stomach so “gentle hugs for a little while, angel.”

While she couldn’t help but dwell on her brother and his hissed words to her, full of a venom of a former self, there had been some bright moments since then, and not just from Millie making her laugh every day. John had written, telling them he’d wasted no time in asking Abigail to marry him... and she’d said yes. Ada had cried into her morning cup of tea while Arthur had grinned and grinned, reading the words over and over.

The wedding was due to be in a week’s time, and, as a result of her now strained relationship with her brother, Millie would be going with them, something the little girl was very excited about. Ada and Arthur didn’t think they could ever be separated from her again, anyway. Sadie and Charles would be there, too, naturally, and it was nice, having something to look forward to.

She should feel well enough to ride by herself, then, too, even though they’d take the wagon for Millie’s comfort. Her wound was healing, slowly, but healing. The first few days after they’d returned she’d just slept and eaten and drunk and slept, more exhausted than she had known, the argument with Thom having not exactly helped.

And, through it all, Arthur had been... well, Arthur. She’d never loved him more than she did right now. He’d tended to her, looked after Millie and kept her entertained, looked after the animals and had even started drawing up plans for the new stable. She’d catch the way he’d looked at her sometimes, though; sometimes grateful, other times like he was afraid, like he was reliving the days in Valentine, like he’d been reminded once again of how very much human they were.

They would just be brief moments, though, and then he would smile, fear turning to love. She knew he was waiting for a sign of melancholia, too, but none came. She’d learned to not just wait around for the spells or dwell on the possibility of them, knowing that, though they would come, they would also go, as surely as night turned to day, and life would continue on as it always did.

“Well, if that ain’t the prettiest sight in all the land. Sun ain’t bad either.”

Her lips twitched as Arthur pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his arms sliding around her. She leaned back against his chest with a quiet sigh, her hands settling over his.

“How long did it take you to think of that one?”

“‘bout thirty minutes. I’ve been stood by the window just starin’ at you.”

She laughed, the fingers on one hand lacing with his. “Wow, quicker than last time.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ there.”

Ada laughed again, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to the top of her head.

“You okay?” he murmured into her hair, and she nodded, tilting her head to lean it back against his shoulder.

“Yeah.” She traced light, absent-minded patterns on the back of his hand with a finger tip, the sky now turning from dusky pink to fiery red. “There’s gonna be good weather tomorrow.”

“Looks so. I was thinkin’ of goin’ out tomorrow, doin’ some huntin’ while Millie is havin’ her lessons with Martha.” His chin rested on her shoulder as he rocked her slightly. “Thought maybe you’d like to join me, if you feel up to it.”

He had to lift his head a little as she turned hers, smiling softly at him. “I’d love to.”

“All righ’. You can hold my coat while I shoot down that Grizzly that’s been spotted, I think I can get ‘im...”

Ada shook her head as she turned in his arms to face him, her lips twitching. “You’re a very funny man.”

His smile was wide, very much pleased with himself. “I know that by how much you laugh.”

“I should stop encouraging you.”

“Oh, you can try, sweetheart, but I see miserable failure...” he murmured, lowering his head towards hers.

And he was right. She couldn’t stop her smile as he captured her lips in a tender kiss, his fingers splaying across her back. Barely moments later, her arms slid up and draped around his neck, her lips moving slowly against his. He teased her for a few moments, his tongue gliding against her mouth, and just as a soft sound came from the back of her throat, he pulled away, one corner of his mouth higher than the other.

“C’mon, there’s still a God damn load of cake left that I am not lettin’ go to waste.”

“You and your insatiable appetite, Mr Morgan.”

He grinned at her as he took her hand, their fingers lacing together. “Oh, I’m insatiable all righ’, Mrs Morgan.”

And she failed again.

Her laugh was carried across their land by the gentle breeze, lifting it through the trees and into the air as she followed her husband into their home.

And life continued on.

The End

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I just wanted to take a few moments to thank each and every one of you for reading this story. I spent about a year planning it and writing the first half, then as lockdown here came in March, I thought why the heck don’t I just start posting it? And here we are, thirty chapters later!! I can’t quite believe I’ve done it, this is the first series I ever started writing and my longest to date.

I want to say a special, huge and just brimming with love thank you to those who have commented. You genuinely kept me going at times and I really can’t thank you enough, you all hold such a special place in my heart.

I’m sorry for making you all wait so long for the final two chapters! I wanted to make sure I was happy with them and that they were the best they could be. I’ve loved living in this world and thinking about Ada and Arthur and I really don’t want it to end... and I’m not quite done yet! I have a short story planned for Thom and Charlotte that will involve Ada and Arthur, their wedding and Millie, and so much more, and maybe some other stories in the future, too...

Thank you so, so much, everyone, I hope you’re all doing okay in these trying times, that you have a lovely day and end of the year, and 2021 brings you all that you hope for.

All the best x

Ghosts of Ourselves — 2021

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Comments and reblogs make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in this series!

Questions?

Tagged: @belfry-bat, @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @ntlmundy, @monster363, @cowboisadness

#arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original character #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x ofc #rdr2 fic #my writing #flamehairedwritings

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magpiemorality · 4 years

Note

Okay okay okay can we learn more about Tall Logan :0?

You absolutely can :D

Warnings: fantasy battle and accompanying implied violence, minor character death (multiple), implied injury

First | Previous | AO3

***

"I'd like to tell you a tale, Remus," Logan said one evening. It was the depth of what passed for winter there in the land of eternal temperate weather. Mostly the nights just felt a little longer, and Eavan's cousins had joined them to journey into the mountains to explore for the season. They'd found a cave and had stoked up a fire, and with Eavan's head in his lap Remus had suggested they find a way to pass the time.

"You have my leave," Remus agreed, getting comfortable and pulling his Fae into his lap and back against his chest to cuddle. "What's it about, your tale?"

Logan glanced at the two other cousins, and they apparently understood some unspoken signal because the first sat bolt upright with wide eyes and the other hid his face in the first's side with a soft sound. "A King, a long time ago," Logan answered slowly, dragging his eyes away from the other two and back over to Remus. "A King of lands unimaginable. Perhaps more than a King, because he ruled entirely unopposed for more years than can be counted, revered almost as a god of the world you now tread."

Eavan shifted. "I don't know this tale," he murmured.

"That's because I have never told it. It's too old and too sad for most days, but it feels right to tell it now, here." Logan and the other two Fae looked around with a curious expression in their eyes before all three refocused on the fire, their glow outlining them to Remus from the opposite side. "Will you hear it?"

The mortal shrugged and his Fae nodded. "Yes, go right ahead," Remus agreed, and tugged his Firefly a little closer for comfort as they got ready to listen.

The tallest Fae nodded slowly, staring into the fire with eyes already gone distant again. "Where to start?" He murmured to himself, as the air hung still and saturated with anticipation.

For a moment the only sound was the soft crackle of the flames, before the Fae who'd hidden his face sat back up, still clutching the other for support. "Start with the beginning of the end, Lo," he whispered, reaching out a hand that Logan took, locking their fingers together. The second Fae nodded his agreement, curling tighter around the first, gazing attentively at their soon-to-be storyteller.

"The beginning of the end, indeed."

"I must stress first that it truly was a shock when things changed. Change was almost unthinkable before that time, after so long of the same and the same and more of the same. The world was smaller then, or perhaps it was bigger, but it felt entirely complete from land to sea to sky and nothing ever strayed from the norm. Oh, people would travel, bicker perhaps, have their own little intrigues and very occasionally there were children born or changes to households through bonding ceremonies or departures, but true change was quite inconceivable. Even the land was simple then, mostly flat plains and rolling hills all covered in rich forest, and the folk gathered in large droves around the shore where the seas would provide for there was little water inland.

The first tremors of change came with the winds. Where there had once been peace with the sky before now there was instead a restlessness. The flurries agitated the trees, and the tides, and the people who walked across the land, sometimes playful or gentle but often biting and bitter and cruel. The King who ruled heard of this new attitude of his once great ally, but little did he know he should not blame the wind, for it was not of its own accord that it was acting so strange.

If only they'd known that then.

Next came the seas, clashing on the shore, stealing the fish, drawing out and rushing in, still when they should run with current and sneaky when anyone tried to swim. Too many were lost to the depths before caution was observed, and the sprawling towns that ran up and down the shoreline grew afraid, always waiting for the sea to rise and claim their homes as it seemed so likely to do.

Which left, of course, just the land as not turned traitor to the folk that lived on it. Before the land could inevitably also rise up against them, the King had word of a possible cause of all of their sudden troubles. There was a faction of miscreants, troublemakers, traitors, who were using magics too dark to contemplate to upset the world against the inhabitants thereof. They weren't targeting the King directly, nor did they seem to have much motivation other than to sow pure chaos, but what they were spreading in its wake was fear and uncertainty and most importantly doubt. People were growing wary and losing faith in their King, and the witches and warlocks delighted in what they'd caused, growing ever bolder.

The King called a council swiftly together, of the Lords of the land he presided over. They came from every corner, all but one. She was called Lord of West because of where she held dominion, but she had reportedly been waylaid by a group of these fanatics. At first there was much sorrow and shock, because Fae were so rarely lost in those days, and even now death is often far from our minds. But the messenger who brought the news had other information to share as well.

The fanatics had been bold, loudly proclaiming themselves true children of the land, which in our oldest language we knew as 'dragon'. These dragons had spun their sorcery over the Lord and had not killed her but entrapped her in a new form, that was bound to unleash destruction on the towns, already burning a wide trail through the forests from her home towards their goal, leaving great swathes of open land where once the trees had flourished.

So the sorrow turned to rage and determination, and the King and his council rode out, gathering armies out of Fae who were more used to tilling and tending the land than defending it. There were a few protests from those Fae who turned out to be sympathetic to the cause, calling for change and crowing injustice whenever they were caught and expelled from the army, but the King and his people carried on despite the growing dissent and he told his people to be merciful, to let them leave to join their chosen side and fight with what honour they had left.

They intercepted the dragons, the Fae who had joined them, and their enslaved Lord long before they reached the peaceful shore, clashing against them army to gaggle of scum. The fight was long and bloody and hard, and magic rent and tore the world around them all, pulling seas inland in great rivers, thrusting the earth up to form new mountains at the top of which great storms gathered, shaking trees down many miles away from earthquakes that rocked the ground beneath their feet.

But they were vanquished when one brave young Fae threw themself from their horse and climbed up the wing of the Lord, foolishly sacrificing themself so that she may be freed from the magic with a spell that has been since banished from memory. The energy involved in that sacrifice shook the foundations of the earth more than any quake before and all those who had fought on those plains were lost in a moment. Too much other magic lay in the air and the sacrifice in the end, ended the battle only at unbelievable cost.

The King himself had been stood at what passed for the enchanted Lord's feet, near the very epicentre of the spell, attempting to reach one of the dragons spouting the foulest magic.

The remaining Fae saw the lights all the way from their homes by the sea and knew what it meant. That magic left behind the first cracks through to the world of mortals, and the Fae that remained living became wary of one another and governed only in small tribes at most. The shoreside towns were abandoned as the seas grew too unpredictable and the Fae became rovers, almost solitary, wild. Changed.

In many ways the dragons in fact achieved their goals."

Logan paused for breath, shaking his head slowly and bowing it with a weight Remus could almost see crushing down on him. "That's... awful," the mortal whispered hoarsely, hugging Eavan tighter. The air felt colder and he shivered.

"Awful does not begin to cover it," the second cousin said, lifting his head from where he'd clung to the first. "It hurts my very soul to hear the tale."

"And there is more to come, hush," the first murmured, still holding Logan's hand tightly. "There is more, Lo. Don't stop there." They all watched as Logan took a deep, unsteady breath, and lifted his head again, squaring his shoulders with a determined nod.

"Quite right."

"It was not the end of the story for the King. For he had not been killed, but thrown far, far away. The dragon he had been fighting had hit him with a bolt of some still unknown magic at the moment the sacrifice was made. I'm sure you may have realised by now that magic is incredibly delicate, and easily mixed and merged to disastrous effect. That magic that enveloped the King combined with the sacrificial spell and every other piece of wild magic in the air and, through some stroke of perhaps fated luck; protected the heart of him as he was transported.

For many years he remained unseen, unknown and yet alive, healing deep in the mountains with V- it appears I- I must have missed a part, my apologies.

Something else happened when he first awoke after the battle. There was the sound of a child crying, and he sat up. Everything hurt, of course it did after what he'd been through, but he could only think to get to the child. A tiny Fae child, so rare, was lying nearby and calling for him. He cradled it in his arms and promised to care for it. No one else could be nearby, he reasoned, if they'd left the child next to his body and run off.

Except there was someone else. Another Fae, but this one an adult. He was surprised to find the King awake, and explained that he'd been running with the child, fleeing from the growing mountains, when he had heard an almighty crash and had diverted to investigate as the mountains finally settled and the magic dispersed. He had recognised the King and set out to find the herbs to help with his injuries, leaving the child alongside his body as he swiftly searched nearby. His home had once been where the mountains now stood, he said, and the remains of it lay far up in the peaks that towered above them. He had pledged himself immediately to help the King and the child, and together they built a home in a cavern, far away from the rest of the Fae where they would be safe and the King could recover.

It was slow progress, and the King insisted every time the Fae offered, that they not send word to anyone about his whereabouts. He was changed, he said, and he had only one charge left to protect, which was the child. After a while the answer changed to two charges, as the other Fae grew to mean much to him in their solitary convalescence. Years passed until they were all strong enough to travel, and the King finally felt restless enough to want to see the aftermath of what had happened, ready to mourn the losses and adapt to the new world.

They found the world as I said, much changed. Insular, isolated pockets of Fae, distrustful and doubtful and proud. It hurt his heart to see it, and to see how few and far between they really had become, but nonetheless there were survivors and he could be nothing but glad for that. The Fae with him helped him raise the orphan child as they journeyed, and they found a new and deeper bond between them, growing close on their long travels across the world that he'd once called his own.

While there were many years to come we will skip to the final chapter to this story. It comes some while after, when the King had long been forgotten. Or so he had thought, but one auspicious day, upon finding a copse and staying in it a while, they were interrupted by another Fae journeying, equally restlessly, across the land.

Once a member of the King's court, this new Fae recognised his King immediately and wept to find him alive, falling into his arms with grief and relief in equal measures. They spoke for many long hours as his first companion tended the child, and after much arguing finally agreed that the decision to no longer be king was the right one, much as the court Fae despised seeing his King no longer afforded the respect his long term of service to their people had rightfully earned. He joined their party and ever since they have all roamed together, closer than family, the three of them raising the child as their young cousin until he was ready to explore the land of his own accord.

The young child Fae left, roaming alone, and for a long while the three old Fae travelled without him. They turned to a new task, keeping order among the Fae that remained in the world and keeping as tight a grasp as possible on the doorways between your land and ours. Their little cousin visited from time to time, until one day he quite abruptly vanished from the world. And when he at last returned he brought an entirely new chapter to their lives, one that has yet again changed things anew. Perhaps, hopefully, for the better."

Logan leaned back and nodded slowly, satisfied with the conclusion to his storytelling.

They sat in silence for a while, gazing at the flickering fire and letting the tale sit in the air between them all. Then the first cousin, the one holding Logan's hand, squeezed it and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek with a soft look, and the other took up residence on the tallest Fae's other side, bracketing Logan with twin embraces.

Eavan sighed quietly, absently stroking the back of Remus's hand where it sat over his stomach. "It sounds familiar somehow, but I don't believe you've told it before," he said, frowning over at his cousins, something tense in the line of his shoulders as though his words weren't quite revealing everything they were actually saying. "It is true?"

"More true than most," the first cousin said with a smile, even though his voice was hoarse with repressed emotion. "Most of it was a very long time ago though."

"I remember it still," Logan said sagely.

Remus looked up at him with raised eyebrows, trying to read the expression on the tall Fae's face. "You remember it? Were you there? Did you know the King?"

"In a sense," Logan replied with a wry smile. "In some ways I only joined the story later on, but that's a matter of interpretation. And as for the King, I knew him better than anyone, you might say."

"Oh talking in riddles is unfair," the second cousin said, snorting softly. "You chose to tell the tale and you must answer their questions now."

"I will, I will. But tomorrow, after the night is done. Leave tonight for stories, tomorrow we can come to truth and answers."

Silence fell again as the five went wandering in their own thoughts. Remus could feel Eavan shifting restlessly and wondered what was going on in that pretty blond head. He was clearly thinking something through but whatever it was was, Remus was apparently going to have to wait until the morning to find out. Remus had learned a new patience from the experience of living with his Firefly, and while often he had to fight to outlast Eavan's stubbornness; this time he thought he might be able to guess what thoughts troubled his beloved.

It wouldn't be such a stretch to imagine Logan as the King of the story, with the two other Fae completing the trio, and his Fae, his Eavan as the child they'd found. It was mysteries upon mysteries and opened more questions than it answered, but such seemed to be the way with these Fae in particular, and Remus counted himself lucky to have been generously given a piece of the puzzle at all, no matter how small it might end up being.

If he was a betting man though; he'd put all he had on this being the biggest piece of all.

#writepie #dukeceit #demus #ts remus #ts deceit #ts logan #fae folk #owing me owing you au #ts writing #ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides aus #ts sanders sides fic #sanders sides #death mention

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thestarkerisobvious · 4 years

Text

The Thing That Lives Under The Bed -- The Conclusion

This it the Coda for The Thing That Lives Under The Bed.

Did you wonder what Peter and his friends did once they got their hands on ALL those spellbooks? Maybe you were curious what would happen if Peter performed the spell of the Kings of the East and the King of the West, splitting Tony in two?

I will be posting one chapter a day #OnHere, in honor of the place where the story began.

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Adulthood

The Trap and The Bait

In addition to realizing that he is in love with the thing that lives under his bed, Peter Parker and his friends have also discovered an underground library full of spellbooks, spirits calling out to be freed and the promise of any number of superpowers.

You may be wondering what they did next.

You are getting closer to the answer.

The twenty-six year old High-High Priest could have simply run down the path, but sometimes Peter Parker was just overcome with the need to leap around like a character from a comic book. Under any other circumstances Angel would have complimented him. Certainly Angel had read his fair share of comics himself (from Monica’s and Peter’s childhood stashes. Angel prided himself on the fact that he could hold up in own in any heated Bob Keen vs Alan Moore debate) but, at the moment, the only image in his mind was that of a mouse in a trap.

Peter was wearing the same suit that he had arrived home in, the same one he usually wore on Capitol Hill when he was schmoozing senators about the Clean Water act or another EPA bill. The tie was gone, and the shirt was opened at the collar. The suit itself should have been rumpled from his journey through the trees, but it must have been one of the enchanted ones. Not that Peter Parker would have minded in any case. It wasn’t his only expensive suit.

He was devastatingly handsome in the moonlight, but Angel knew that the man was devastatingly handsome everywhere. Everyone thought so.

The weak and infirm flocked to the Lavern Post Healing Center from far and wide. Either they were healed by Dr. Cyprian, or they were convinced by Laura-Bee that it was their destiny to find treatment elsewhere. But all them, every one, commented on Peter Parker and his movie-star good looks. Even Matty, the High Priest, reluctantly admitted that, even though he stayed behind to cast the convincing-spells, it was Peter’s good looks that really opened doors for him when Peter set out for [the directions to the White House.] Laura-Bee, of course, was always happy to tell, in loving detail, about the first time she had laid eyes on handsome Peter Parker. About the day the first met, about how they were childhood sweethearts.

Laura’s super-power was mesmerism, and she didn’t use it very often.

But when she told stories of her childhood, you couldn’t help but feel like you were falling right into her memory. As if you, yourself were walking home from Robert E Lee school, walking down the dirt road, desperate to hold Peter’s hand lovingly and listen to him describe every detail of Silent Spring. Every long-time member of the Post Homestead had heard that story. Maybe that's why every member of the Post Homestead felt like they had been in love with Peter Parker their entire life. That Peter Parker was the only man they had truly ever loved, and that they, too, would be married to Peter if Peter weren’t married to Dr. Tony Cyprian.

And they were. In love with Peter Parker, even if only for a little while. Every guest seemed to fall for him too, if not romantically… well... they all seemed to be a little hot for him. Even the guests that chose to stay in the Abe Sexton Library suites (recommended for all the straight-laced practitioners, the ones who weren’t interested in the Homestead’s attitude toward sexual freedom) lay in their beds and night and fantasized about the devastatingly handsome and dead-sexy Peter Parker. Angel knew.

Angel knew it all.

And Angel was certainly in love with the man himself.

Which was ridiculous, of course. Imagine… being hopelessly in love with the Peter Parker, the man loved by politicians, Disciples and demons. Fabulously wealthy parishioners flocked to him to be rid of their pain and their guilt, side by side with big-name lawmakers from Capitol Hill, all succumbing to his charm and openly trying to introduce him to their daughters. Imagine a man like that even looking twice at him. At him, a scrawny, dirty, sunken-eyed miscreant with a wild unruly hair and a perpetually bad attitude.

Of course, Peter Parker was looking at him now.

His handsome face looked perplexed, taking in Angel, the lapping water, and then the rock. He looked back at Angel, barefoot and trembling at the water’s edge. He didn’t look angry at all, but he did look like a man in a hurry. He was panting a little. Gracefully he stepped down to the sand where Angel stood.

“Angel? Sweetheart… what are you doing?”

“I don’t want to go back,” Angel cried out. Hating the petulant, childish sound of his voice, hating the way his throat felt too tight to speak at all. “I won’t go. You can’t make me.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I could make you…”

For just a moment, Angel saw it.

Peter Parker was a handsome man with kind eyes (and he could be kind, oh he could be so very kind) but he was also a master magician, the leader of a coven of magicians, each commanding their own army of spirits. (Any minute now Angel was expecting Plucky to turn the plants into bindweed to hold him down or Moonlight to appear and force him back to the ceremony with silent, pleading eyes.) Peter Parker wasn’t just the darling of Capitol Hill and a brilliant environmentalist crusader, rubbing elbows with chieftains and royalty and Heads of State. He was also a formidable wizard who had summoned his first demon at the age of 13, a man of incredible natural power, a man feared by mortals and devils alike.

For just a moment Angel saw that man, that other powerful man, flash across Peter’s face.

Then it was gone.

“But I don’t want to make you. I’m not going to give you orders. You’re not my slave. But… but I don’t understand...” His face and his voice was gentle as he stepped closer. “Angel, please help me understand what’s happening. You’ve never run away from a ritual before. We called for you, but you were nowhere. Even Anton couldn’t say where you were. What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to… please. Please, I don’t want to go. I know what the High Priest wants to do to me. I know what Anton is going to do to me – I know what the bones are for. The black-cat bones. The ones you keep in the back of the refrigerator Please, Mr. Parker, please don’t make me.”

“Mr. Park…?” Peter looked completely baffled. He took a few hesitant steps forward, until he was almost within arms reach.

He didn’t look in the least bit out of place, wearing that expensive, glad-hander suit and standing on the banks of the lake by moonlight. But Peter Parker never looked out of place anywhere. He had a very convincing personality.

Angel was almost convinced himself.

“Baby, you’re confused. Why would you be afraid of… I don’t even…why are you calling me Mr. Parker? Oh god…”

He looked behind him at the black sky. The moon, one day passed full, shown down on them like an all-seeing eye. He groaned. “I waited too late, dammit I knew I shouldn’t have. And you’re shaking like a leaf, just look at you…”

Peter reached for him and Angel started to back away, but then his bare feet splashed in the water. He yelped in terror and leapt away from it. That meant there was nowhere else to go, but directly into Peter’s arms.

Peter pulled him close, easily fitting Angel’s head into the crook of his neck, wrapping muscular arms around Angel’s skinny body and pulling him close. There was no helping it. Angel wrapped his boney arms around Peter’s body and clung to him, shivering.

“Oh god, I told them not to feed you but… I made a mistake, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed in Kenya for so long, I pushed it too far, I’m so sorry. The things Princess Shuri told me were so huge… it was all so important and I thought I had more time. Matty told me I had more time. Amado,I didn’t mean to hurt you. This is all my fault. Please forgive me. I should have taken better care of you.”

Angel pressed his slight body against the firm body of the taller man and held himself there. Against that strength, he thought he could manage to stop shaking. He even managed to pull one hand away long enough to wipe the tears away from his cheek (then snuck that hand up to touch Peter’s face shyly for a moment.) “Did… did you? Get to meet with Princess Shuri at the consulate? Are we going to be protecting the black rhinos now?”

A look passed over Peter’s face, a look Angel had never seen before. For a moment Peter looked… doubtful.

“She wasn’t there to talk about the rhinos,” he said quietly, look away, gazing out at the moonlit lake. “It was a trap. Well… not a trap, but… but Shuri was definitely the bait.”

“She betrayed you?” Angel asked in horror. He would be angry, would be shaking in impotent rage... if he weren’t so surprised. How could anyone deceive the High-High Priest? How could anyone meet Peter Parker and not adore him with everything they had inside?

The strong man laughed ruefully. “I don’t suppose it’s really ‘betrayal’ to lie to a man you’ve met twice because your brother asks you to do it.

“Angel... Shuri and T'Challa are… well the word is “enhanced” now. I suppose ‘superhero’ sounds too childish. But T'Challa is just like me… we both inherited some ancient magic that was a hell of a lot bigger than we ever expected and a hell of a lot more than we ever bargained for. Trust me, we talked for hours. Unlike me, he grew up knowing what he was getting into… but he’s still been given a lot more than he wanted. And just like me…”

Peter’s arms tightened around Angel has looked sadly at his domain. He looked into the forest, across the lake, then up at Dead Oak Hill, bathed in the erie torchlight. “… we just want to be left alone to play Comic-Books with our friends in our own tiny corner of the world that we’re king of.. Unlike me, he thinks he’s ready to join the grown-ups in the real world. I’m not so sure. Angel they want me to…”

He caught himself suddenly, as if he had forgotten who he was talking to. He shook his head. “I can’t really talk about it yet. But it’s big, Angel. It’s really big. I can’t tell the others until I’ve talked to Tony. Which means I have to take care of you first. Look at you…”

Peter tightened his arms again, gazing into Angel’s eyes with a tender look. He brushed his lips against Angel’s forehead in a tiny kiss.

“Angel,” he whispered, “…are you afraid? What on earth could you be afraid of? Nothing scares you. You’re fearless. Baby, please tell me what’s going on.”

Angel looked up into Peter’s face, so perfect and so beautiful in the moonlight. He struggled to remember… he had been afraid, only now he couldn’t quite remember why. There was something wrong with him, something terribly wrong, but now he couldn’t quite remember…

…until he did.

“Don’t let them send me away… please don’t. I don’t want to go, please don’t make me go through the ceremony. Please, Peter. I can’t. I can’t leave you.

“I love you,” he blurted, choking on the confession. He found himself blushing, his whole body flushing at the secret words said aloud. “I love you so much. I know I’m not… I know I’m not anyone… I know I’m just a ragged, spoiled-rotten kid that weighs next to nothing and bugs everybody and I know I’m a constant nuisance and I know that I’m not someone important like a princess or a senator… but I love you. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you.”

Peter’s forehead wrinkled in concern, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

“Angel, Angel sweetheart, do you see? You’re so confused baby… oh can you… oh god how is this happening??

“Angel, how could you forget that I love you?”

Peter’s mouth on his was sweet and gentle and warm. The kiss was tender and loving and everything Angel had imagined it would be. Peter’s arms were strong and solid and he held Angel as if he never wanted to let him go. It was a dream come true…

…and that was the problem. Frantically Angel pulled away, trying to look around him. Maybe this was a dream… maybe Laura-Bee was there with him, holding his hand and telling him the story, over and over and over again, of how she had fled across Lovesick Lake on the darkest night of her life, and there found the man that could take all her fear away just by holding her hand.

But Laura wasn’t there. He and Peter were alone in the moonlight, kissing on the banks of Virgin Lake. Peter was warm and strong and solid and suddenly all Angel could think was… hadn’t they done this all before? Hadn’t they held each other like this, kissed each other like this, on the same night as the ceremony? Was that why it felt so much like a memory?

“Do you remember Amado?” Peter was whispering. “Try… try to remember.”

“I can’t… I don’t… I keep reaching for it, but it’s not there…” Angel said through his tears. Peter pulled him close again, tucking Angel’s head in the crook of his neck and rocking him back and forth.

“This is my fault,” he said, stroking Angel’s hair and kissing his head over and over again. “It’s because I was sick the day of the spell, isn’t it? I was still getting over the food poisoning, I was still weak… god I should have let Matty do the spell but I was too jealous and now look what’s happened…”

Angel was so surprised he pulled back enough to look into Peter’s face. He wasn’t sure what startled him more, the fact that Peter could get sick, or that Peter had been jealous… of Matty? Of Matty… and him?

“I can’t believe how badly we messed this up. It’s always gone so smoothly, but this time…

“Angel… you told us that you had to focus on eating this year. So you couldn’t get distracted by everything else, so you could concentrate on taking care of yourself and making yourself strong. But all we did was make you hungry and miserable all the time, and now you’re dressing in rags and lying to everybody… Angel try to remember.” He reached up with one hand to cup Angel’s cheek. Angel leaned into the warm touch, closing his eyes against the pain in Peter’s face.

“You told us that if we could make you forget about the world outside the border, that you’d be content, and not feel rejected or left out while the others worked. It was your job to stay here, to focus on yourself and to get strong. But look at you. You’ve forgotten what you’re supposed to be doing, you don’t remember who you are. You’ve forgotten that you are a fierce and powerful force… and, god, you forgot that I love you…”

“I do remember, I do! I remember you love me,” Angel said quickly, grabbing Peter’s face and kissing him hard, not because he remembered, but because he couldn’t bear the sound of Peter’s broken voice. He only wanted Peter to be happy, couldn’t stand the idea that he had made the man feel sad.

Peter wrapped one arm around Angel’s waist and pressed their bodies together. Angel moaned at the sensation and willingly opened his mouth to Peter’s kiss.

Maybe it didn’t matter what he did or didn’t remember. He certainly wasn’t the first person to come to the Lavern Center to pay Dr. Cyprian to take terrible memories away, only to be extremely confused afterwards because they couldn’t remember what they had paid for. Maybe he was even one of the wealthy clientele… (but he suspected he was more likely one of Peter’s charity cases.) But he knew one thing, he wasn’t going to argue endlessly about it. Year after year he had watched Laura-Bee argue patiently, then not-so-patiently, as she made her annual pilgrimage to the secret library behind Peter’s office where the reports were locked away. That was the place for everyone else who had benefited from the Memory Therapy, but not for her. She had never even been to that room. Had never seen it before.

Once a year she went to that room, arguing all the way. Once a year she sat down to listen to Monica read all the things that had been written down for her. Once a year she had to remember that she had never been BORN Laura Foster, but legally changed from Hortense Lovelace to Laura Foster-Beeker, the day she turned 18. All because of something horrible that her father had done, a memory she had chosen to give up completely, a memory she never wanted returned.

And he could do the same, couldn’t he? Ask to go to the locked file cabinets to see what he had written down, to see what he had forgotten.

But not just now.

Just now he wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck (and all but wrapped one leg around his waist) and pressed his entire body against Peter’s hard, solid form. He didn’t feel ragged or shaky or hungry when he was with Peter. He felt safe and warm and strong.

Just as strong as he felt during the Great Ceremony, he was sure of it. The one day a year that four disciples were back at the homestead at the same time, Matthew Mark Luke and John, Matty and Sarah D and Doctor Wickham and Monica, each a powerful magician in their own right, each with multiple spirits at their command. Along with Peter and Laura-Bee they would sing their way through the spells, adding their voices to the beautiful, practiced harmonies that the second circle magicians had prepared for the occasion. For hours they would sing until the sky was full of fairy lights, until their spirit-servants were vibrating in a counter melody until the whole forest rang with power and promise. He remembered… how the singing would last long into the night, even after the moment of the solstice was over, even after seals were recast, even after each task was done. How they would continue singing for the sheer joy of it, for nothing other than the pleasure they felt when they stood and created together. How they would promise each other, NO REALLY this time they meant it, that they would come together more than once a year. Reveling in the sheer power that they had when they stood side by side, when they joined their voices together.

The Great Ceremony, that was due in less than a week. That’s why they were saying good-bye to each other. That’s why…

“We came here and you kissed me good-bye,” Angel murmured against Peter’s mouth. Then he pulled away a little, looking around the moonlit hills. That’s who he had been looking for, that was his memory. The tall, strong man was Peter. Peter was holding Angel in his arms. They had come to the lake for a private moment alone before the ceremony. He had been seeing the memory of them.

“Did we?” Peter said, his forehead creasing in concentration even as he smiled. “Oh yes, we did. That was two years ago. We should do it every year. I love kissing you here.

“Angel,” he said, bringing his hands up again to cup Angel’s face. “John and I will study the spell and we will absolutely do it right next time. You can’t ever forget that I love you. Of all of them, you’re the only one who ever says it back to me, and I treasure it. You can’t understand how much I treasure it. It means so much to me, precious. I don’t think you know how much I love you.”

“But you don’t,” Angel said, even as Peter brought their mouths together again.

“You don’t love me.” His arms were too weak to push a strong man like Peter with any force, but he did his best. He pushed Peter away from him as hard as he could, fighting back the tears.

“You don’t love me, you love him.”

“What the… the hell?” Peter stammered, angry and baffled. “What is this about? You’ve never once had a problem with… wait… love who?”

“You love him. You love Dr. Cyprian.”

If he weren’t so distraught Angel would have laughed at the face Peter made now. It was comical.

“I love… Tony? This is about Tony? You can’t really…”

He stopped himself short and shook his head, hard. It was a gesture Angel knew too well… it meant that Peter was looking at a long, pointless argument and deciding to skip past it and get to the end.

“Yes,” he said decidedly. “I love Tony. He’s the first man I ever loved. He’s my Significant Other, my David. He’s my husband, Angel. He’s my whole world, and not just because he’s the only reason why any of this works,” he said, throwing his hands out and gesturing around him at the lake, the forest, the moonlight. “He’s my whole world because he is my best friend, and I HAVE to talk to him… I have to talk to him tonight. I have to make the biggest decision of my life, and… look!” he said with a painful laugh. “I’m here! I’m here, at the center of it all, in the place where I always make the big earth-shattering life-changing decisions! Except he's gone so he isn’t here to tell me what he thinks!

“I have to go back and tell the others, Angel. I have to tell them what Princess Shuri wants me to do and I can’t tell them until I talk to Tony and instead of talking to him I’m standing here arguing nonsense with you. We’re going back now. We’re going back and we’re finishing the ritual and when it’s over you’ll understand.”

“Not yet we’re not,” Angel said boldly, stepping into Peter’s arms and kissing him hard. Maybe he had been fearless once, just like Peter said. He certainly felt fearless now as he shamelessly reached down and cupped Peter’s erection, working it with skillful fingers. He remembered, now. Remembered that this powerful man, the man that commanded all of them, humans and spirits alike…

…this man was his lover. Only a week ago, just before they had left for the Kenyan Consulate, Angel had crept into Peter’s bed and gotten everything he had asked for. And it hadn’t been the first time, either. More than once Peter had given in to him when he begged… and oh… what Peter gave him was so sweet.

#The Thing That Lives Under The Bed #Demon!Tony #Starker #TheWitchwayWritesStuff #Tony Stark/Peter Parker

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